


To Start A Fire: vol. II

by lollipopmania



Series: Golden [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, Multi, One Shot Collection, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-08 16:39:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1948458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lollipopmania/pseuds/lollipopmania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Temari might not have counted cards, but she could always tell which ones he held. </p><p>(originally posted on ff)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. on Sex

"The sex isn't... well..."

He heard it as he was watching the clouds. It was just idle conversation, and Shikamaru couldn't quite explain why he became so invested.

Sure, he'd always had a sort of far off crush on Temari. (He hated that phrasing:  _crush._  Crushing wasn't exactly something that Shikamaru did, if he liked someone, he'd pursue it. He  _liked_ Temari. But this was different. This was a crush).

Rationally, he probably used the phrase off-hand because his  _liking_ , or such, was passive in action. In all, he was a pretty apathetic guy when it came to these sorts of things, and more often than not, he was the one being pursued. But with Temari, it was more of a far-off-distance passivity. They'd been closer when they were younger as friends. After that, he had never even been old enough to try for her. And when he had, she'd been with someone else.

He wasn't in love with her, and honestly, there were no late nights or horrific losses in her dating someone else. Shikamaru was fine.

So it was a kind of crush. Had they the opportunity, they'd probably by good for one another. But they didn't. And he didn't mind. So it was just a far off, reluctant, crush.

Which still didn't explain why he stopped on the street to better his eavesdrop.

He didn't care about Temari's sex life. He sure as hell didn't care to listen to Ino speak about hers. Ino told him enough even when he tried to ignore her. But here Ino and Temari were, walking down the street below the roof Shikamaru had recently been lying on.

He'd woken from his nap an hour or so before, and though he was hungry, had no motivation to leave the roof. So he sat, eyes idly on the sky and listening to the occasional tidbit of conversation from the pedestrians below.

Shikamaru's ears had perked up when he recognized Ino's voice with, "…but how is the sex?"

And his whole torso completely sat up when the voice that followed was Temari's.

"What does that mean?" Ino pushed, " _specifically_."

They were wondering out of ear and so Shikamaru moved forward on the rooftops.

"It isn't that he's bad," Temari clarified. When he looked down, he could see them walking right below him, strolling along with easy steps. "I mean, he tries hard, and I give him some credit for that."

"Do you come?"

There was a long pause and Shikamaru found himself leaning so far sideways that he risked falling into the street, scared Temari had whispered the answer or something.

"Once."

"Only once?"

Temari must have nodded or given some other form of non-verbal sign of affirmation because Ino continued.

"Does he not know?"

Shikamaru didn't really understand how he could not. Shikamaru was, after all, a man whom had engaged in sexual intercourse with more than one person. And sure, with a woman it was harder to tell when they came--as in there was no obvious sign--but not impossible. Shikamaru always knew. Or at least, thought he knew. Now, he wasn't so sure. /

But still, when you were dating someone, didn't you keep a steady inventory of their orgasm..  _everything?_ How could Temari's boyfriend not realize?

"I usually don't even fake it." Temari continued. "But he really tries. Every time it starts to get good, he stops and asks if I'm okay. I used to wonder if he was worried that he was, like, actually hurting me or something, but it turns out he was just asking whether or not I'd finished."

Shikamaru grunted, slowing his pace. He wanted to tell her that her boyfriend was an idiot. But Shikamaru himself had, on more than one occasion, asked his partner if he or she were good for him to come. So he couldn't really judge, could he?

Then again, Shikamaru was sure that if Temari were to choose another partner — say him, for instance — he would make it _good_ for her. To be honest, he didn't really doubt it. He and Temari would have great sex, it was speculation, but he took it as fact.

He really shouldn't be thinking along these lines, because now his chest was burning, but that could always be attributed to the weather.

"Oh my god," Ino drawled, "I can't even imagine. Is sex really not that important to you? I would have dumped him ASAP if he couldn't pull off anything more than a few thrusts."

"He makes weird faces too."

There was a laugh from Ino and he can almost picture Temari rolling her eyes. "Well that's not unusual. You should have seen Genma."

Shikamaru shuddered and, for the first time, seriously considered giving the two girls their privacy. He didn't think prying into Temari's personal life was worth the extra baggage of Ino's.

"No," Temari said after a moment, "sex is important to me. And honestly, I don't even like him all that much. We started with just fooling around, and I used to think that even mediocre sex was better than no sex, but now I'm not so sure."

"There must be other prospects? It has never been hard for you to attract someone, right? And there must be some decent population of men that are good in bed."

"You've slept with the majority of reasonably eligible men in Konoha. You've never had a horrible partner?"

The two of them stopped walking and Shikamaru leaned over to see what was currently occupying them. Both were hidden beneath an awning, but after a few seconds, continued into the open. Their pace picked up and Shikamaru went back to following.

Ino gave a non-committal grunt. "I've had not great ones, but they all have been _decent_. And the ones I stay with have all been great."

Temari laughed.

"I think you should dump him," Ino continued. "Start sleeping with someone else."

"There _is_ no one else right now." Shikamaru bit his tongue. "In Suna, sure. But I'm stationed here for eight more months and these days all the men around my age seem to be taken."

"Hm, well, I guess you're right. Even Choji has a girlfriend... Sai is available?"

Temari laughed loudly. "I'd rather do it myself than fuck Sai."

Shikamaru could feel the blood painting his cheeks and neck at the image of Temari touching herself. It wasn't something he'd really thought about before. He wasn't a lewd person normally. Not prudish in any sense, very straightforward usually, but never so immensely drawn to any perversion.

But suddenly the thought of Temari masturbating was rivaling the thought of him and her. Of course, he was available, and Shikamaru could snap Ino's neck right now, but that was beside the point. He was caught fifty-fifty between wanting Ino to acknowledge that Shikamaru was a perfectly eligible bachelor whom got on with Temari and had maintained a healthy (or at least, climactic) sex life, and wanting Temari to break up with this guy and then just do the deed herself.

Rationally, he knew it was better to sleep _with_  her. But that also could result in something brilliant or could ruin a perfectly comfortable friendship. And her touching herself didn't really ruin anything did it? 

"Maybe you _should_ do it yourself, if your boyfriend is that shit."

Temari gave another non-verbal response and Shikamaru burned this time with the half-hearted remark left in the air on his end.

"Does he go down on you?"

"He used to. He always wants to, but at this point, I'd rather just get the sex over with."

Shikamaru's sigh of exasperation at the current situation was too loud, and both Temari and Ino stopped talking for a second, but quickly carried on.

"Well you know, Kiba loves oral sex. He has this one technique where he kind of rolls..."

That was enough for Shikamaru.

There was only so much he take from Ino. And as she continued to speak of the length of Kiba's tongue, Shikamaru became painfully aware that imagining sex with Temari was not worth hearing the explicit intricacies of his practical-sister's sex life. Without anymore hesitation, Shikamaru turned around and leapt from rooftop to rooftop until he was well out of range of their conversation.

Regardless of their new distance though, Shikamaru's chest—and every now and then, groin—continued to burn well into the next week.

 

 

*

 

 

It was a surprise, though, when Temari showed up at his door thirteen days later.

"What are you doing here?" He'd asked.

She leaned into the doorframe, folding her arms in front of her chest. "Took you long enough."

"What are you talking about?"

Temari shrugged. "I was tired of waiting."

He frowned.

"Well," she said, stepping closer and forcing him to sidestep so she could enter. She walked into his apartment and glanced around before turning to face him, "do you want to fuck me or what?"

Shikamaru gaped. "Wh— what?" And then, after it hit him: "how long did you know?"

"Long enough."

Shikamaru wondered how apparent he'd been. He thought he'd covered his tracks well... Slowly, his ears turned pink. It was a rare thing for him to feel embarrassed, and truthfully, he hadn't ever really felt as such since childhood. But Temari brought out certain things in him.

"Ino thinks it's hilarious. She's told practically everyone."

He moved his gaze down and muttered, "bitch."

"So," Temari asked after a second, "what are you going to do?"

Shikamaru didn't have to think twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	2. on Suna

He hates Suna.

He hates it all.

He hates the stupid slangs and accent and clothing and their music and television and the newspapers she occasionally receives. He hates the smiles and the way it calls her name.

_He hates it all._

He hates everything about it.

But mostly he hates how Suna runs in her veins.

He knows he shouldn't. He should love everything about her, should worship the blood that crawls through her body.

But Suna brings her smiles that he can't.

He can tell sometimes, when they sit on the grass and she looks up the sky and he knows the sun reflecting and warming her skin is the right sun in the wrong place at the wrong time and she wishes it were the same sun somewhere else.

She doesn't always wish she were somewhere else. He knows that too. She loves how snow stays on the ground in Konoha. She loves their leaves and the way the wind whispers instead of screams. She loves him.

He loves her.

But the red string doesn't wrap around his pinky but ties her heart to the desert instead, because he can always take her out of Suna but somehow the Suna can never leave her. And that is what he hates the most:

how Suna calls her back.

Because it always calls her back and it always will. And some nights he can feel the breath of Am I Not Enough To Make You Stay crawl out of his bones but instead he smiles and brushes his fingers against her knee because he is scared (he knows) the resolution might be worse than the problem. He holds his breath and waits for her to never come back and every time he lets her go he is ashamed to say that he is a little surprised when she returns. He was never her keeper and he knows he brings light but Suna brings _life_ and one day she is going to make the choice.

And he knows what her answer is.

So he hates Suna.

Though he loves _her_ accent and mannerisms and the music _she_ listens to and he _does_ Love the blood in her veins and the gold seeped into her skin but he _hates_ Suna.

_Suna always calls her back_.

And when she finally answers its call he knows he won't change his number but it doesn't really matter if they live in two different places and in two different sunsets.

But he always wants to grab her heart and pull it into him and whisper than he'll always love her even though she prefers to breathe different air than to share with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, all stories originally published on ff


	3. on Gambling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is an alternate version of the TSAF V1 story: Gamble (chapter 5). this is just the same theme with a different take, this time temari-focused. also if you don't think i'm getting some parent trap in here, you're wrong.

**on Gambling**

 

Temari didn't count cards.

_Temari Didn't Count Cards._

She thought that point was worth reiterating, especially when she was so blandly accused of it as often as she was. It wasn't unjustified to keep careful watch on the deck as his fingers gripped and arched it. She always knew how to play it safe.

He had definitely known that beforehand, so when he asked in that very sly manner with one eyebrow raised and drawl three quarters tease and one quarter serious, she didn't feel the need to answer.

After all, Shikamaru had always been one to purposefully bait her.

He always liked teasing, in the worst way.

He came off reluctant and straightforward and downright lazy, but  _damn_ did Shikamaru like to tease his partners.

Goading and taunting, pulling and pushing—she'd never been non privy to his sadism.

It wasn't that he  _was_ a tease. He just riled people. Irritated the people he managed to get in bed with him, maybe because it made it more interesting or maybe because it was always all just a game to him.

Cocky, arrogant, egotistical—

"Temari," he commented, extending his hand to the chair across the table from him, "will you?"

She took a deep inhale and pulled out the wooden chair and sat down.

Around them the crowd couldn't be called lifeless, and she could already see money exchanged out of the corner of her eye. They Seem To Know Each Other, she heard somewhere behind her.

They did. Not well—not  _really—_ but they'd certainly Met.

(if that was what the kids called it these days)

"It's good to see you." Shikamaru said, shuffling. It was nicer than the first thing he'd said when she'd first pushed through the crowd, her hands on her hips and his eyes crawling over hers because he knew it would irritate her that he wasn't paying more attention to her legs: You Don't Count Cards, Do You?.

"Is it?"

Shikamaru glanced up from his hands, staring at her for a brief moment. His eyes were as dark and foreboding as ever. Then he looked back down and any moment they'd had was broken. "Yes," he answered simply.

It'd been around two years or so, and she took the words in kind.

There was silence as he finished shuffling and began to deal.

"Don't I get to cut the deck?"

"Do you not trust me?"

Temari eyed him and then glanced over at the Ikuyo, who just smiled from the fringe of the crowd. "Not at all," she answered when she turned back.

Shikamaru gave another long stare, as though he were surprised by her response, before he pushed the deck forward and she cut it in half. He took the cards back.

She thought it'd be obvious. When someone dumps you, are you supposed to keep your faith in them?

"Ante?"

"I heard you normally bet alcohol."

"So you've heard of me?"

Temari smirked and then let her eyes wander over his face. "You've made quite a name for yourself."

"All the way overseas?"

"All the way around the neighborhood."

Shikamaru's head shot up. "You're back in Nagoya?"

Temari intensified her smirk and swept her hands over the turned down cards in front of her.

There was a light pause before Shikamaru put down the incomplete deck and reached for his own cards. "Drinks it is then," he muttered, lightly sinking teeth into his lower lip.

Without speaking they raised their cards. Temari was overly familiar with the slick pasted papers of playing cards beneath the pads of her finger. "Stop staring at me," she said instinctually, and though she didn't look up to see if Shikamaru even had been staring at her, someone in the crowd snickered.

"Can I ask..." he began, "did you come here to play me?"

"Why else would I be here?"

Shikamaru put down his cards and leaned back in his chair. "That was how we met."

"Stop being so sentimental," she shot back easily, not looking at him.

"Did you two used to date?" Some man asked from the crowd.

"Was it that obvious?" Shikamaru responded, looking nowhere but at her. Eventually she put her cards down. She'd thought it'd been apparent since he'd let her cut the queue of people waiting to play him with one look, but it was only now that the surrounding people started nodding their heads and moving their eyes from her thighs to the cards in front of her. "Are you going to fold?" Shikamaru continued when the silence between them and the whispers of the crowd had gone on too long.

She shook her head. "I brought money."

"That's boring," Shikamaru muttered, leaning forward and regaining some of the cool he'd lost after finding out she was permanently back in the city, voice turning back into syrup and eyes mischievous. "Let's bet on something a little more interesting."

He'd said the same thing three years ago when they'd met in his college dormitory. She had come to play him that time too, only she hadn't realized this master poker-player everyone on campus was talking about was actually just some twenty-year old kid with outrageously good grades and too much confidence. She had beat him that night, but she'd more than made it up to him before dawn.

"What are you proposing?"

Shikamaru smirked. "What did you make me do before?"

"Break into the pool and jump in naked." She said easily.

He raised his brows. "Is it that vivid for you to remember?"

"There wasn't  _much_  too remember."

Shikamaru chuckled at her quick denial, as if he were to paint in red that she most certainly remembered All Too Well.

"I just felt bad that everyone stole your clothes."

"Yes... you did." Her stomach tightened—of course they were both well aware that the memory was far too present—and she picked up her cards again. "Same proposition?"

"What?" She halted, "back at the university? You want to go skinny dipping  _there_?"

"Who said I would be the one to go skinny dipping?"

"Cards are about luck, Shikamaru. We're both in equal amounts of it." He shrugged, as if to say his superior intelligence would win him the match. "Fine," Temari threw out, "I'll accept."

This time, Temari definitely saw bills trading hands.

"Are you here alone?"

"I brought someone."

Shikamaru glanced up from laying out the next card from the deck. "Oh?"

She smiled and inclined her head, letting his eyes follow the line. Temari wondered if he'd deny obvious release of tension in his body when he saw who her guest was.

"Hello, Ikuyo," Shikamaru said diplomatically, raising a hand.

There was a pause and then Ikuyo raised her own hand, " _Hello_ , Shikamaru."

Getting back to the game, Temari felt herself becoming closer to her cards, finalizing her hand and feeling content. It wasn't anything superfluous, but she would almost definitely win.

"You're not going to fold this round either?" Shikamaru asked after a few minutes.

"Any bets?" She responded with.

"It's your turn."

"Rescind your title. If I win, you have to stop playing poker here. Let your name die out and go back to your real job."

"And if I win?"

She thought about it. "I'm not sure, what do you want?"

"You," he answered without hesitation.

"Excuse me?"

"I'll raise the stakes." There was an exaggerated pause and then he aligned their eyes and cocked his head. "You. I want you. I win, I'm the one that gets to take you home."

Temari laughed. "How many men are staring at me right now?"

"At least a dozen." He answered without looking.

"And are they more handsome, richer, kind? Any more eligible than you in any way?"

"Some, almost certainly."

"Then why should I go home with you instead?"

Shikamaru licked his lip, "because," he said, simply and plainly with no hidden meanings or teasing in his voice, "we were in love once."

Temari stopped short and someone in the crowd burst into applause.

When she took a breath, Shikamaru had already moved on, as though he'd said nothing important.

"Are you ready?"

Luckily, she didn't need to respond when she was sure she would be going home alone tonight with the hand she was holding. And she didn't need to be matter of fact when there Definitely was no burning in her gut making trails between her legs and no there most assuredly wasn't.

Though she wouldn't deny that she still thought about him.

"One more condition. Tell me why we broke up. Why did you dump me?"

Shikamaru looked hurt for a second before looking vaguely surprised. "I didn't dump you," he tried, "I let you go."

The mood, which had never really lightened up in the first place, became heavier. This time, no one in the audience applauded.

"There is always someone that loves more," he said, "that was me."

She could hear her blood pounding in her ears. "Bull. Shit."

"You were going away for grad school. You were an adult and I was just grounding you."

"That's the most selfish thing I've ever heard."

"I loved you," he said simply.

"You just wanted to fuck me."

He shrugged, lighter, "well, that too."

Angry at his very skewed confession, she slammed her cards face up on the table. "I won."

Shikamaru took one long look at her hand and then slowly folded his own. There was a beat and then her section of the crowd cheered. "The school pool?" He asked begrudgingly.

"It's not that far."

"Is tomorrow okay?"

"It's not even midnight!"

Leaning forward, Shikamaru reached out his hand and put it on hers. "What happened last time you felt bad for me?" He asked in that same teasing voice and she wondered how he could so quickly gain the upper hand.

Knowing perfectly well what had happened when he'd lost his clothes all those years ago, she rolled her eyes. "And?"

"And don't you feel  _bad_ for me now, losing to someone in my own territory?"

Temari looked at him and then pulled her hand away. "Tomorrow night. At the pool." It wasn't what he was aiming for and he narrowed his gaze at her. She only shrugged.

"Don't steal my clothes." He tried.

She stood up and pushed in her chair, "I can't make any promises."

  



	4. on Misdials

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many thanks to apps and carolnuts

 

**on Misdials**

* * *

 

 

After a minute's hesitation, she reaches for her phone and leans further back against the porcelain of the bathtub, padding her fingers against the keys down in memory.

The phone rings. Once. Twice. Three times.

She is holding her breath again, but lets it out as soon as she hears the opposite side click.

"Are you home?" She asks, voice breathy and low and just how he likes it. Temari licks her lips and before he can respond, follows up with: "are you alone?"

There is a pause. Perhaps she woke him up? Or he wasn't expecting her sex voice?

Eventually he clears his throat, awkward and unsure over the telephone. "Um...yes?"

She puts a finger to her lips before remembering there is no way he can see her (it's not even like she is super vanilla, but phone sex was an experience she'd never even _considered_ before this) and so she shushes him _—_ light and smoky _—_ and tells him to not say anything.

"Just close your eyes," she says slowly, "and listen to me." On the other side of the call she can hear and exhale, but he remains vocally silent. "Now," she continues, "press one button for Yes and two for No."

She can hear him swallow. The hotel room he's staying in must be silent, because she _swears_ she can hear couch cushions whine as he presses his back further against them. She shifts in the tub, water splashing against her thighs.

"Do you understand what I mean?" She tells him, "then press the button."

The pause this time is longer. She can hear him breathing, harder than before.

Eventually, there is one beep in her ear.

"Good boy," she whispers, uncharacteristically and with the most ridiculous expression on her face, but he doesn't call her on it. He wouldn't. "Were you sleeping?"

A beat passes, and then two beeps go off in her ear.

"Good," she says again. "My voice might echo a bit," she warns, running her toe up the lip of the bath, "I'm in the bathroom, lying in a tub full of warm water."

She can imagine him now, sitting in some suite at some corporate hotel. He's still dressed. Maybe his tie is a little loose and his shirtsleeves rolled up. He probably isn't hard yet, not quite, but getting there, surely.

For Temari, half the arousal is the anticipation.

For Taro, it was more the action than the forethought.

"The water is nice and soft," she says, trying to keep the ghost of whisper in her tone, "against my skin. The temperature is good. Hot, but no scalding. You know how I always like it. What the heat feels like against my skin. Between my legs."

"I _—_ " he starts.

"Shh," she says, harder this time, "I told you not to say anything."

She can hear him fall back against a couch, hear the buckle of his belt. She wonders if she is on speaker or if he is trying to hold the phone up while working his pants?

Temari shifts and lets the water splash enough to be heard through the wire.

"I'll tell you what I'm doing right now," she inhales, "I'm holding the phone in my left hand and with my right hand, my fingers are wandering over my thigh, getting closer and closer." She swallows, tapping her right forefinger against the stupid toy duck and scratching her nose. "I get so wet when I think of your hands on me like this. Getting closer to where I want to be touched. I can't stop thinking of you when I do it myself."

At the end she gives a little whimper, just to add something _—anything,_ really. Dirty talk was never really her forte. She probably should've written a script or something.

It seems to be working though. Through the receiver she can hear a long sigh escape from him. Unless she missed it, she hasn't heard his zipper yet, which means he is probably rubbing himself through his trousers.

Honestly, the image kind of turns her on.

But she doesn't think she can handle trying to manage phone sex and getting off at the same time, so instead, she pushes the duck through the water, instantly regretting she hadn't thought to put bubble bath in.

"Oh god," she continues, going a little higher on the end. "Oh I'm touching there right now. Right where I like it. Oh." She moans a bit, splashes her hand through the water to make noise. Moans again. "Oh, right there."

The she pauses, sits straighter in the tub. "I want to touch you too," she tries. Her voice is so throaty, she swears it's going to be shitty for the rest of the week. "I want to wrap my fingers around you. It'll be so easy in the water."

Finally, she can hear his zipper pull down. And then she hear him spit into his hand.

He's probably fully erect now. She can picture it. His cock, red and against his stomach pooling with pre-come. He'd be watching her, massaging a hand into her shoulder. She knows exactly what he wants.

"I want to put my mouth on you. Suck you. Can I?" She can hear his breath hitch. "Can I suck you all the way down?"

There is a pause and then it sounds like he'd dropped the phone. This is fucking cheesy, the thinks. She holds back a laugh. But then she can hear the phone being moved _—_ picked up probably _—_ and then he hits a button again. Once for Yes. Temari rolls her eyes, but she can _hear_ his arousal through the phone and he puts it back up to his ear and she thinks that hey, maybe this _is_ working.

"I want to lick your cock. Over and over. I want to eat you all up."

Temari actually has to bite her hand this time to keep from laughing. Instead, she lets out some more moans for good measure.

"It turns me on so much, thinking about blowing you."

She whines, high and breathy. Over and over, whimpering and increasing her breathing. "I want you to do it to me now." Her moans get louder and in quicker succession. "Now." She swallows and moans again. "Right now."

His breath is getting shorter and more erratic.

It's been less than five minutes, she wants to say. But in reality, she is grateful. She couldn't go on much longer.

"I need you," she whispers _—_ more high, less throaty, like when she is about to come _—_ "inside me, now. I want to get on top. I want to ride you. You can hear the water splashing as I move." She holds the phone out and kicks her legs a bit. "It's because I'm going faster."

He is the one who moans this time, low and heavy and sort of unfamiliar and she finds herself _liking_ it.

"My fingers are inside me now. Just two of them. I'm imagining they're yours."

He moans again, though this sounds like more of a groan. More of an exasperation.

"Oh god, oh god, yes, yes." She splashes around some more, "harder. Harder."

He is moaning again. Louder. Faster. The majority of noises now are just a mix of whimpers and sighs and moans and the occasional _yes yes_ from her side.

"Right there, right there. Oh I'm so close. Oh oh _—_ "

Temari has faked an orgasm before.

Well, not so much these days.

When she was a teenager she thought she was supposed to. As a courtesy. They give all grade school kids medals these days regardless of how well they did, why not high schoolers?

Now though, her partners were old enough that if they _couldn't_ get her off, they weren't worth it. Nineteen year olds were green and had an excuse. Twenty-nine year olds didn't.

But hey, she could hear Taro come. Not literally, but there was definitely a peak and she knew he was coming. It sounds different over the phone, sure, but she could still recognize the sound when someone climaxes.

Temari steps out of the bath and the moans on the other side turned into long breaths. She kind of wants to pat herself on the back _—_ like, _hey, yeah, still got it!_ But instead, she wraps a towel around herself and pads out of the bathroom and through the apartment to her bedroom.

When it sounds like he's been off his high enough, she puts the phone on speaker and goes about finding her pajamas.

"Hey," she says, "you can talk now. Was it good for you?"

He stops breathing for a second, then gives a long sigh. "Yes, uh _—_ yeah It was good."

Temari pauses. She straightens from where she was leaning over her chest of drawers. Something is wrong. She can't place what it is. But it's wrong.

"What is this?" He asks.

Except not _he_. Not Taro. _Not Taro._ Fuck. Fuck fuck. _Fuck._

_How_ had she not realized it? He sounds _nothing_ like her boyfriend.

"One of those one eight hundred numbers?" The man _—The Man—_ asks.

Temari can't breath. She can't move. Her brain is on fire and she can't figure out where she went wrong.

"So you guys are calling customers first these days? Hm. That sounds suspicious." The Man pauses, "wait, so then how much did this cost me?"

_Shit_. She finally is able to snap out of it and practically leaps across the room for the phone. "Who is this?"

"What?"

She looks at the number.

And then looks at it again.

" _Four?"_ she manages, voice all but gone, " _four!_ "

"Excuse me?"

"Oh _shit_ ," she snaps, "I meant five, I meant five!" Without another thought, Temari hangs up.

She dials Taro's number. The correct number. It rings, and rings. And of course, he is asleep _—_ it's long past midnight in Suna.

Temari snaps her phone shut and throws it across the room.

It is new. She got it today. Didn't get a chance to put her address book in.

She had been dialing from memory. Misdialing. Apparently.

So, she had phone sex with a stranger.

No big deal.

She just listened to some guy _—_ probably some married old man with kids and wrinkled skin in some fucking trailer-park _—_ get off. She had _helped him along_. _Encouraged_ him. Told him she wanted to blow him. Ride him.

Oh _fuck_. The night could literally not get any worse.

 

* * *

 

 

Two hours later it does.

"Christ," The Man starts with. "You're calling again? This time I _was_ actually asleep."

"You _—you... who do you think you are_?"

There is a pause. "What?"

"What kind of dirty pervert says Yes to some girl he doesn't even know?"

"Dirty pervert?" The Man is easily fully awake now. "Excuse me?"

"Do you make a habit of jerking off to girls on the phone?"

" _—_ the hell?"

Temari kicks the side of her bed, pacing throughout the room. "You just pick up some unknown number and pull your dick out while some stranger you've never even seen gets you off?"

"Hey," The Man snaps, "you're the one that called _me_ in the first place. And _no_ I don't make it habit _—_ jesus christ, I was just sitting at home trying to watch some shitty crime show when my phone rings and then some chick with a sexed up voice is explaining how she's touching herself. What, was I going to press twice?"

" _Yes_."

"Bullshit. You're the one calling strange men saying things about _eating me all up_ and _riding me_. I think if anyone is the pervert here, it's you."

Temari kicks her bed again. " _Clearly_ I didn't mean to call _you._ "

" _Clearly_."

"So what asshole doesn't hang up the phone when he realizes she made a mistake?"

"I was supposed to gather that then? You didn't give me a chance to say anything!"

"Really? The _right where I like it_ and _I'm imagining it's you_ didn't give you the fucking hint?"

"Not really! If it's any consolation, I probably wouldn't normally say yes. But I'm trying to quit smoking and the fucking gum won't work and the patch keeps falling off and I've bought thirty so far and it's been one day! I swear to god all I want is to suck on something. Anything. I just need something in my mouth _—_ ah shit, not like that." He stops and swallows. "I didn't... I didn't mean it like that. Well, I mean, not necessarily not like that. You know, maybe blowing some dude is what..." he clears his throat.

She doesn't know where, but somewhere along that stupid idiotic ramble, she lost her anger. "Are you done now?" She asks.

"Right." He finishes, "so when my phone rings and some girl is asking me to press buttons... I mean, _fuck_ , what other choice did I have?"

Temari exhales and rubs her temple. She was so furious the past two hours she hadn't had a moment to breathe.

"Do you always ramble this much?" She mutters into the phone. Half out of curiosity and half because it feels rude to hang up now that she's gotten all her frustration out.

And if she's being honest, he doesn't sound like too much of a pervert. Definitely still a pervert though, just maybe not a Dirty one.

She can hear The Man sigh. "Not usually, no."

"Side effect of quitting smoking?"

"Maybe. I'm normally a pretty calm guy."

"I don't believe that."

"You're going to be annoying, aren't you?"

"You know nothing about me."

The Man laughs quietly into the receiver. "I know the basics of how you like it. The imagery."

"Maybe that's just how my boyfriend likes it."

He laughs again. His voice is warm."Yeah, maybe."

 

* * *

 

 

Temari is sitting in her usual booth at the coffee shop _—_ a week later to the tee _—_ when her phone lights up with an incoming message from an unknown (but recognizable) number.

_I'd like to return the favor._

It doesn't take her a second to understand what he means, but a moment to absorb the whole of what he wants.

She hits the call button. He picks up on the first ring.

"It was fake," is what he opens with.

This time it does take her a moment to gather what he is saying.

"I could tell," he continues when she remains silent.

He is walking around. She thinks she hears sizzling _—_ maybe he's cooking something? It's a Friday evening and not too long before dinner time. She can see him preparing, chopped garlic in a pan and a light sweat on his forehead from the combined summer and kitchen heat. It's a short image (that is ninety-nine percent imagination because she has _no_ idea what he looks like) and she let's it fall away quickly, eyebrows raising in a _yeah right_ gesture there is no way he'd be able to see.

"Still finished." He says quickly, as though she needs reminding. (She _really_ doesn't. It passes her mind more than she'd likely admit). "I... yeah, I finished." There is an edge of a smirk in his tone, as though his orgasm was something to be proud of.

She thinks she wants to punch The Man in his face.

"But, you know, I could tell."

Temari licks her lips, spreading the fingers on her free hand down onto the table."That's bull." She says, "No one can tell."

Honestly, there was no way to know. If he'd been her boyfriend... if he'd had a constantly updating archive of the noises she made when she came, well then _maybe_ he could tell when she was faking it.

But she was _damn_ good at faking it.

And he had never, well, _seen_ her before. Much less seen her orgasm, and she highly doubted he would ever be able to just _hear_ it.

Maybe he was just throwing out wildcards? Taking a guess. A shot in the dark. Fifty/fifty chance of success. Either she'd come or she hadn't.

But he doesn't argue her anymore, and she just sighs and swallows and gets up to throw out her coffee cup.

"Well regardless," he says. "I'd like to return the favor."

"Who said it was a favor?"

"Are you going to charge me for it then? Because it sounds a lot like I'm offering payment right now."

" _Please._ If I charged you anything, it'd be money."

"So you _will_ be making me pay?"

"Possibly."

"So it's a No to my offer then?"

"It's a No."

She waits. After an extended silence, The Man laughs. Low and sincere and like it doesn't echo her rejection at all. "Good evening, then." He offers between breaths.

Temari hangs up without responding.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

It's not like she didn't think about the outcome. Of the first call. The second, not so much. But she _definitely_ thought about the first one.

_Trust her, she thought about it_.

She thought about it a lot. For weeks really. At work. At home. On her morning jog through the park.

The debate wasn't all that difficult. She was in Konoha. Taro was back in Suna. Skyping was something they'd done, yes. Once or twice. But the casual Skype conversation had never become more than that. Not that she hadn't tried.

In all honesty though, it was purely for him. The idea of sex and technology didn't turn her on all that much. Like okay so there were plenty of sex toys she could get down with. But sexting, nudes, webcam shit _—_ that didn't do much for her.

In all, she was purely doing this for Taro's benefit.

But in the end, he hadn't reaped one thing from the outcome. Instead, his girlfriend had had sex with another person. Okay, well it was less that she'd had sex with The Man and more that he had had sex with her.

If it could even be called sex. She tended to define it as someone having an orgasm with someone else present, no matter how that orgasm was brought out _—that_ qualified as sex. But if it was over a phone... did it count? Surely she couldn't have been cheating on Taro. It was a mistake. Purely. Not even with a subconscious purpose.

She had, wholeheartedly, believed she was on the phone with him.

Not the pervert who'd whacked off to her voice.

Okay so maybe she wasn't angry anymore. And yes, they had definitely been flirting by the end of their second call there. But it wasn't like she saved his number or anything.

But then again, it wasn't like she was _in love_ with Taro or anything. Dating for over four months has a degree of sincerity. A commitment. It could no longer be classified as a fling or a hook up.

She introduced him as her boyfriend.

But that didn't mean they were _that_ serious.

Though she didn't for one second try to excuse her next actions with the fact that she wasn't in love with Taro.

She was cheating. It was a different degree than if they'd been together longer or married, sure. But they were still an item and she was sleeping (sort of) with someone else.

She sends off one quick text.

_I've changed my mind._

Less than a minute later he responds with: _at dinner. i'll call in an hour._

Temari shakes her head and tosses her phone onto the couch in the living room, rethinking her choices. A few seconds later though her phone lights up again.

_you can't imagine how long i've been waiting for this._

_3 Days?_

_from the moment you called._

She huffs and throws the phone back down from where she'd picked it up. But she won't deny the drop of heat in her stomach.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Temari rolls over onto her stomach and kicks her feet into the air. "Seriously?" She smiles, "that is so cliché."

"Asking what you look like?"

"Yes."

"Isn't that how phone sex is supposed to go? In the movies they always describe themselves."

She laughs into the receiver and rolls over once more to stare up at her ceiling. "Does that mean you've never had phone sex before?"

"Not with a stranger."

"So you _have_ done it?"

"I didn't say that."

"Mhm. Okay."

He pauses a second and she hears something happen in the background but the noise is indistinct. "So," he says a minute later, "are you going to describe yourself or not?"

"Well. I'm female."

"Oh shit, really?"

"You're surprised, I know." He laughs. "I'm blonde. I used to be tanner, but I don't live in a place with as much sun as I used to." She leaves it there.

"Well," The Man answers, "you've certainly painted a clear picture. I feel like I can visualize you perfectly now."

She can practically hear his eye roll through the phone. "What if I said I was ugly? What if I had a pot belly and saggy tits and bad skin and grandchildren? Would you still want to fuck me? I mean, you know, unless you're into that."

The response is not immediate, as though he is seriously considering the circumstance. "I'd still want to fuck you."

"High standards you have there."

"If your voice is enough to make me come that hard, then I think I'd be attracted to you enough regardless of your physical appearance."

"And if I told you I was the pretty. The prettiest person in the world, the most beautiful woman you'd ever seen, you'd still fuck me then?"

"In a second."

Temari laughs again, quieter this time.

"Are you still naked?" He asks after a while.

"Yes."

She can hear his intake of breath and laughs at him in an exasperated manner.

"I couldn't possibly manage to find clothes after that."

"After _—_ "

She cuts him off with: "after you made me come like that," grin clear in her tone.

" _Shit_ ," she hears, "don't say that stuff."

"Why," Temari teases, once again rolling back to her stomach. "Does that turn you on?"

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"Refractory period that short?"

"I'm not that old." The Man clicks his tongue. "Hey, who says there was any need for refractory?"

"You could really say all those things without getting turned on yourself?"

He swallows. "Honestly, just hearing your voice is enough to arouse me. Especially when you... when it's not fake." His tone is lower now. Less flirt, more seriousness.

"That much of a difference?"

"Yes." The answer is simple and deliberate and his voice is heady and she won't admit that this turns her on as well. But the small exchange is too thick and it feels heavy on her, so Temari tries to breathe and lighten the mood.

"Maybe I'll have to finally save your number in my phone."

The Man waits a while before responding. "You don't even know my name."

"I've been thinking of you as that Dirty Pervert, so..."

He chuckles shortly. "Maybe I am more perverse than I realized."

"My name," she resists not biting her tongue, "starts with a T."

"T? It seems like we're fated."

"And why is that?"

"Mine begins with S."

"You're an idiot."

S laughs again, longer this time. "I think you like me."

"Sure you're not pulling at teeth?"

He sighs, but not in an exasperated way. More out of reluctance. "I'm sure."

"Right."

"I'll put you in my address book."

"Like I wasn't already." She says it as a statement and he just sighs again.

" _Goodnight._ "

"Goodnight."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

After she brushes her teeth, her phones beeps once.

_remember to put on clothes before bed. don't go around catching colds._

She rolls her eyes and remembers to save his number in her phone.

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Temari**

_Just how old are you?_

**S**

_i'm legal_

**Temari**

_That's not all that comforting._

**S**

_i'm old enough. maybe not to have grandchildren or anything. but old enough._

**Temari**

_Shit, you're jailbait aren't you?_

**S**

_christ, no. i'm twenty-six. born september twenty second. now stop prying._

**Temari**

_So it's not appropriate to ask if you have a pot belly and saggy tits?_

**S**

_i'm too thin to have a pot-belly. and for a man, i've been told i have pretty nice tits. but you know, they usually substitute the word PECS for TITS_

**Temari**

_You're skinny aren't you? Young and skinny. I've picked myself up a little boy._

**S**

_/Lithe/_

**Temari**

_Hit a sore spot, have I?_

She sends off another message before he can reply.

_I don't know why that kind of turns me on._

**S**

_so does this mean we've upgraded to sexting now?_

**Temari**

_I thought you liked my voice._

**S**

_god. please don't. i'm at work._

Instead of replying she puts her phone away. She is working too and really shouldn't be so distracted by her mobile.

Still, she pulls it out again against all better judgement and sends off one more text: _Strawberry Ice Cream is my favorite dessert._

Twenty minutes later she gets: _the brothers karamozov is my favorite book._

She doesn't text back.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Two days later she gets: _i started smoking when i was sixteen._

**Temari**

_I lost my virginity when I was fourteen._

**S**

_my father died when i was in high school._

**Temari**

_Mine too._

**S**

_i have a pet parakeet._

A few seconds later he follows it up with: _reluctantly._

She wonders what the story is behind that, so she presses the call button. He picks up on the second ring.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They talk on occasion after that. Mostly they text, but sometimes he calls. Certainly more often than she does.

No more phone sex.

But they do talk. And definitely text. Usually meaningless stuff like: _a homeless man asked if he could have my shirt when i left the gym last night. apparently i have "nice sweat"_ And sometimes things more serious, like: _i've never been in love._

It wasn't one-sided either.

She told him about her job. Her boss. The one time she punched a boy in high school because he'd asked her out on a dare and she broke his jaw.

And when they spoke on the phone it went on for hours. It wasn't as often. A handful of times at most, but when it did happen, they spoke for the whole night.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"She has a secret boyfriend," Tenten finds the need to clarify.

"A what?"

"Secret boyfriend."

Kankuro snaps his head over to Temari, expression somewhat scandalized, as though Tenten had implied something much more disturbing.

"That's completely untrue," Temari rolls her eyes, putting down her fork and knife in one motion and tilting her head, "I am _very_ single."

Tenten waves her hand in disregard. "Hence the ' _secret'_."

"He is _not_ my boyfriend," Temari says sharply, boring her eyes into her the couple across the table, "he is... a friend."

"You don't talk about touching 'a friend's' dick."

"Jesus fucking _—_ " Kankuro begins at the same time as Temari says:

"We don't do that anymore."

There is a cough as he chokes on his scrambled eggs and Tenten has to slap his back. "Please, god, _please,_ no more details," Kankuro tries when he can breathe again.

"All I mean is, we are just friends."

Tenten rolls her eyes. "That's what they all say."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

And they are.

She knows it. But she also knows that they aren't.

Though there is no reason for them to be. Sure, most friends don't meet by accidentally having not-quite-real sex, but the circumstances of their initial relationship and then the lack of continuing said relationship, well, that was no hinderance to a normal friendship.

Both are adults, and Temari is sure _—_ positive, even _—_ that the reason they aren't definitively Friends has nothing to do with that misdialed call all those months ago.

Perhaps it is the fact that they've never met in person. How close can a phone call be? Really, they have all the characteristics of a long-distance relationship without the actual relationship part.

Whatever. Temari isn't about to try and analyze a surreal relationship that is most likely not progressing any time soon. She has no intention of initiating a face-to-face meeting (not that it isn't something that she has imagined _many_ times before). But still, she has no idea where he lived or what he actually looks like... their relationship is close and personal but not necessarily... private. Or maybe it's too private and not personal? She isn't sure anymore.

She is sure though, that any meeting between them will only end in mutual disappointment. _Disillusionment_ , she figures. She would meet him and all the careful fantasies she had configured would disappear. She didn't _know_ him. She knew everything _about_ him, but

she didn't know him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Temari!" The barista says loudly over the mild chatter of a coffee shop on a monday morning during rush hour. Temari has been standing on the fringes of the half-formed queue by the pickup counter, so it takes her a second to weave through the bodies in navy business suits and bluetooths.

Brunch with Tenten and Kankuro was little over a week before and Temari hasn't texted S. since.

It wasn't that the conversation bothered her. It pointed out nothing she wasn't already keenly aware of. It was just... she was in over her head. _Christ_ , a few conversations with some person she'd never met and she'd dumped her boyfriend. To be fair, she didn't leave him _for_ S., S. simply helped make light of the fact that she and Taro weren't good.

The point remains though. She and S were kidding themselves. A relationship based off a misdialed number. A mistake in its purest form.

Sighing inwardly, Temari mollifies off her inner-troubles and grabs her coffee off the counter. She feels as though the day has already worn her out and it isn't even nine am.

She pushes back out of the crowd before bringing the cup to her lips.

Except it's not coffee she tastes but a much too creamed cup of English Breakfast and Temari groans and throws her head back in exasperation.

"I ordered _coffee._ " The mutters to herself, punctuated.

She isn't one to go complain to the barista, especially when the shop is this crowded and Temari doesn't have the luxury of time to go tell someone (someone who was certainly of messing up her order) that they all have to take an extra few minutes to make another mocha. But apparently she hadn't spoken quietly enough, because the voice of a man responds to her mostly-breathed comment.

"Did you happen to get tea with extra cream?"

Temari snaps her head back up and found the person speaking to her standing directly in front of the pickup counter. In response to her raised brows, he pushes through the crowd to where she is standing.

He gives a short _ah_ as he stumbles out of the people crowding the counter to land an inch or so too close for casual conversation and as soon as he straightens he takes a step back, rubbing his free hand against the back of his neck.

"Sorry, uh... you see, I ordered a medium English Breakfast," he says, extending his cup, "but this is some sort of coffee drink."

She is looking down at his cup when he finishes his sentence and she shoots her eyes up to his.

She knows his voice and although she won't admit it, she'd known as soon as he apologized, who he was.

It is him.

The Man.

S.

_Shikamaru,_ the cups says.

Temari can't breathe.

"...Didn't you say you had the wrong order?" He tries when she remains silent.

Somehow Temari responds and he gives another apology as though he has an apology to allow and holds out his drink.

She can't stop staring at his face. His cheekbones and the line of his nose. His eyelids and the length of his lashes. His eyes are practically black but they must be some sort of dark, dark grey because she can still distinguish his pupils as they roams over her own gaze, surely questioning her thorough and intrusive inspection of his features. There is no recognition in his gaze though.

"Of course," she manages. Her fingers brush his gloved ones as they pass orders. His (her) drink is hot in her hand and she is beginning to sweat behind her ears.

He (Shikamaru) brushes his bangs back _—_

_he used to talk about how his hair was getting too long and his best friend kept nagging him to cut it but he kept forgetting to make an appointment though he still somehow claimed he was actually an intellectual genius_

_—_ and offer a smile, the lines around his eye crinkling. "Well then." He inclines his head, "Thank you, uh," he turns the cup in his hand, "Temari."

"Anytime," she ends up saying, still in a daze. They part with that and she leaves the shop into the biting cold without stopping to grab the coffee sleeve. Her palm continues to burn against the paper cup but she hardly feels it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

She sits on the bench outside the office building, thinking.

_Shikamaru_.

He didn't look like she expected. For all his talk and the timber of his voice he was sinewy where she'd expected bigger, the tilt in his voice impressed light on her _—_ light hair, light eyes, she wasn't sure, just _light—_ and he'd been dark.

But he was tall and his eyes spoke of wit and quickness and somehow everything seemed to fit its place.

She sees the Shikamaru that had puked all over the fifteen year old girl giving him his first blow job, as well as the Shikamaru that was the reluctant valedictorian of both his undergrad and graduate classes. Now she pictures Shikamaru cooking with his shirtsleeves rolled up and phone pressed between his shoulder as he laughs through the wire into her waiting ear, garlic sizzling in the frying pan.

She sees what it must have looked like when he pushed back against the couch cushions and unbuckled his belt, breath hot and lips parted.

Of course, it is still all conjecture. Maybe that first time, way back then, she had imagined the noise of a couch and the tearing exhale of his orgasm. Maybe he didn't use his right hand. Maybe he curled in when he came instead of arching off the cushion, as she'd imagined. Maybe his pale skin didn't blush red.

She had seen him. Met him (sort of).

But she still knew everything and nothing about him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Don't you think?" She finishes.

"I don't see what's wrong with pursuing it," Tenten comments. "He is probably interested."

"How can I pursue a stranger?"

"The whole point is: he isn't a stranger."

"You don't understand, Tenten," she says, finger rubbing the salt around the lip of her drink, "he knows everything about me but he's never even met me. Well, not _really_ met me."

"And yet, in some ways he knows you more than anyone."

"But that's exactly the problem: there's always more you tell when you know it's being listened to and not documented. I said everything with the idea that I'd never have to see him, to meet him. He's like… a foreign object. A personification of a journal or diary. Something completely unrelated, both himself and his number, to reality."

Tenten sips her drink and spins her stool side to side. "So basically there's been no filter," she tries, "and that is why you're scared?"

She thinks on this. "No filter." She repeats. "No meter. How can we possibly progress in the real world?" She shrugs, "he couldn't even recognize me. Honestly, how can I pursue it? Where could we possibly begin if we've practically been in a relationship for months without _actually being in a relationship?_ "

Tenten waves her hand in dismissal. "This is all much too confusing," she gives, "this newfound world of technology. I vote we go back to having phone operators."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Her phones beeps two minutes after she has turned off the light to go to sleep. Temari rolls over to blindly search for it on the bedside table. The text simply reads: _that was you, wasn't it?_

She isn't sure what she wants to say or how he'd come to the same conclusion. At the time, he hadn't reacted in any way that could be interpreted as recognition, but there must have been something.

She ignores the message for a few minutes then responds without answering directly.

**Temari**

_You never told me that you lived in Konoha._

His reply came in quickly: _you never told me either._

**Temari**

_Sorry I didn't meet your expectations._

**Shikamaru**

_i never said that._

and then another: _i never... i never said that_

She calls without hesitation to talk herself out of it. She doesn't mean to say anything. She is mad at him. Furious with him. Rationally she understands that her anger is directed at him through no fault of his own but through her own disturbance with how close she let a stranger get and how much she felt for someone she had hardly even met, yet, she is furious with him.

But he answers before the first ring has even completed itself on her end.

"Temari," he says. Or rather, breathes.

Technically it isn't the first time she has heard him say her name, but it is the first time, the only time, she has heard him say it like this.

Like when he whispered into her ear a few months before. Except this is her _name_. And it hurts and excites all at once and she'd just meant to call to do something _—_ to tell him off, to correct him, to break this, _them_ , up _—_ but instead she exhales into the receiver and leans further into her pillow.

How can an answering voice _—_ a name _—_ be that... _erotic._

"God. Don't say it like that."

"Say what? Temari?" she sighs and pushes herself up to sit.

"Tell me." She says low and with intent. She can hear his inhale through the line, "what are you wearing?"

She hears the breath as he opens his mouth to say something _—_ to laugh or play it off. They are friends, not lovers _—_ but then he sighs lowly.

"What I was wearing this morning", he says, "sans coat and such. Just my suit." He pauses, as though looking down and over his ensemble and she has a feeling he is contemplating whether he should continue describing his clothing to her. Apparently he decides that is as far as he will go, as he exhales into the phone once more. "I couldn't sleep," he continues. "Didn't even try."

"Have you been drinking?"

"For hours."

"Are you drunk?"

"Yes."

Temari rests her hand on her stomach just underneath the hem of her shirt. "Why?" She asks.

His answer is immediate. "Why do you think?"

She takes longer to respond, trying to steady her breaths. "Can you still get it up?"

He barks out laughter, short and empty. "Always the blunt one."

"Well?" She follows through, unfazed.

"Honestly, I wish I couldn't." He swallows and gives another exhale loud enough for her to hear. The more she listens, the clearer his drunkenness becomes. "But I can't..." He breathes, "can't... can't stop thinking about you. As soon as I figured it out. You won't... I can't get you out of my head."

"What are you thinking about?"

"You." He inhales as though to say more but no words come.

"Shikamaru," she prompts.

"That's the first time you've said my name."

"Did you like it?"

"Say it again," he commands, leaving no room for negotiation.

"Shikamaru," she says ago, lower and with less order.

"Again."

"Shikamaru."

"Christ. I can see why you like that so much."

"Is it working?"

"You mean: am I hard now?"

Temari laughs half-heartedly and swings her legs out of bed to stand up. "Maybe."

His answer is quick. "Do you want me to be?"

She walks out of room. The apartment is cloaked in darkness, but the blinds are open outside her room, so irregular shapes of light and shadows make the place somewhat visible.

"I am standing in my living room," she tells him, biting her cheek and scanning her eyes around the furniture. "I can see the doorway from here. And the kitchen counter. It's dark, but I'd still see you."

He says nothing.

"I want to open the door with shaky hands and press you into the doorframe."

"Do you press many people into the doorframe? Is that something you do?"

She tilts her head. "I don't know," she answers honestly, "but I want to press you."

"You'd take me home?" He asks sincerely.

"If I just met you," she allows. "If we were strangers."

"We could've been."

"But instead you became my diary."

Shikamaru doesn't respond for a while, but the line isn't dead and every few minutes she can hear a sigh or clang of glass on a table. It sounds like he is finishing another drink and it takes some time before he speaks again.

"C _—_ can I?"

Temari isn't sure what she wants. It's an ending without having a true beginning but there is no way around it.

"Yes," she whispers, walking over to sit on the couch.

"Temari, for months I've imagined it..." He laughs sharply. "How you'd act, how you'd smile. How you'd look in bed." Through the wire she can hear him down his drink. When he speaks again his throat is dry. "Now I _can..._ and it won't go away so please, _please,_ just let me."

" _Let you_ ," she echoes.

"I want you to touch yourself. I'm not there, so you have to do it yourself."

"You're not here."

"No."

"But if you were?"

"I wouldn't be able to stop touching you. You'd press me into the doorframe and then I'd kiss the breath out of you. I don't want to fuck you in the bath or on your bed. I want to fuck you everywhere. I don't want to take my time or go slow. I don't want to make it special or make it love. I want to mark you and scar you and make you mine."

"Tell me more."

"I want you down on your knees."

She tries to laugh but the noise comes out as more of a desire.

The silence this time is her fault, but it isn't as baited or as long as before.

"So, you'd take me home, then?" He asks. "If we were strangers."

"In a second."

A sigh. "I'm sorry."

Temari pushes deeper against the couch cushion. "Yeah," she says, "me too."

He hangs up first.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Who's mail is that?" Tenten calls from the bedroom.

"The previous tenant." She flips through the envelopes. None of them seem that important, but the woman living in the flat before Temari had only moved two floors down, but remained in the building. "She said she had a better view or something facing East. It's only on the 6th floor."

"I can drop if off," Tenten offers, "why don't you just go get the food?"

Temari shrugs. "It's on my way. Just keep at it," she says, pointing to at her feet when Tenten walks in to what will-be Temari's living room, "that one should have dishware and utensils, etcetera, if you could unpack that."

"Sure," Tenten kneels down and reaches for one of the many x-acto knives they've been using all day to rip open tape and breakdown boxes and begins unpacking. "Make sure they put extra sesame seeds on the chicken!"

Temari waves her off, grabs her wallet, keys, and the neighbor's mail. Then she walks out of the apart, down two flights of stairs and over to 6D. She rings the bell, but there is no answer and no obvious sound from inside the apartment, so she leaves the post under the door, with a note explaining that apparently the mailman hadn't gotten the memo that Temari had not moved into the vacant apartment, but Ms. Yamanaka had and given Temari her own.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It takes two days before Ms. Yamanaka sends Temari's own mail back up to her.

Except not necessarily in the form of a reciprocal Thanks.

Temari doesn't think to look in the eyehole, and so when she opens the door only to choke on her own air, Shikamaru drops every envelope in his hands.

"Oh shit," he mutters, bending down to pick them all up. "I should've guessed."

"Guessed?!" Is the first thing she manages when she can breath again. It's been six months, after all, and seeing him on the other side of her doorway was not something she would have guessed.

He stands back up. "Ino _—_ uh, Yamanaka _—_ has been telling me all about the new girl in 8A for _days_. I'm trying to help her move in and she won't stop trying to set me up some cheap girl."

" _Cheap?_ "

"I don't mean _—_ ugh, _the apartment_ , Temari. That's all."

"So my apartment is cheap?"

"Christ," he says, rolling his eyes, "you compromised on a much better place with a view over the river for a two hundred dollar difference."

"What's that matter to you?"

"Just an observation." He held up his hands _—_ one still holding her post _—_ to gesture innocence.

"God, you're an idiot."

Shikamaru shrugs, "few people seem to think so."

"Clearly, you're talking to the wrong people."

"Were you always this annoying?" He asks. "I don't remember hating you so much when we were together."

Temari wraps her hand around the post in his arm and yanks it into her grasp. " _Go home_." She takes the mail and puts it on the newly bought table by the entrance.

"Fine," he says shortly.

She manages to pull the door back ajar before her slam actually hits. "Wait, 'when we were together?' We never _dated,_ Shikamaru."

He doesn't turn back or stop walking, just waves a hand back at her. "In all the ways that matter, we did."

"Then why did you let me go?"

He stops walking.

She isn't sure where the words came from. They certainly hadn't been thought out or calculated (much in line with the conversation, fairly), but they slipped from her tongue nevertheless.

Shikamaru turns around slowly, takes long, patient steps back to her door. When they are face to face again, he looks over her to stare into her half-set up apartment, dark eyes trailing over opened and unopened boxes. Finally, almost with reluctance, he moves his gaze back to her.

She feels as he must have felt the first day they met. His eyes keep moving, taking in every part of her face. It isn't unfair or intrusive. She feels naked, but neither in a perverse nor humiliating way, only as though nothing is hidden to him in her features and feelings.

She takes the time to look at him as well. His cheekbones and the line of his nose; his eyelids and the length of his lashes: it looks exactly the same. Perhaps not as pale, and he has had a haircut, although the length would probably still reach below his shoulders if he took the tie out.

Eventually, Shikamaru takes a step back in the direction he'd come from, balancing his weight on one leg. He scratches the back of his head, sheepish and honest.

"Temari," he says, so plainly and simply, "why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

He stares at her, long and serious. "That you were in love with me."

With that, Shikamaru turns on his heels and stalks back down the hall to the elevators.

"I must say," he says, waving his hand once more as Temari stares after his retreating form, "you've got a nice doorframe there."

"Oh, fuck you." This time, the slam of her door resonates throughout the hall, but she swears she can hear him laughing.

 

 


	5. On Neighbors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by the Reba McEntire song, The Greatest Man I Never Knew. Honestly not as sad as it sounds. Short and whatnot.

**On Neighbors**

She is under the awning of the building next door the first time they meet.

"Excuse me, miss," he says, vaguely out of breath. The cuff of his slacks are wet and his leather shoes look half-ruined.

Temari doesn't look much better. She is more wet than he. She'd taken cover soon enough to not be soaking. Her white dress isn't yet see-through, though, which is at least some consolation.

"Are you waiting out the rain?" He asks, closing his umbrella. It is hot and humid and absolutely miserable outside and Temari feels sticky everywhere. The stranger must too, although he looks so suspiciously attractive, it is hard to tell.

"Currently," she shrugs, "depending on how long it takes."

The man extends his pocket umbrella, "won't you take it?" He tries. "I live right next door and this is a throwaway."

Temari looks in the direction he is pointing.

"Actually," she says, "I live there too."

The man tilts his head. "In that building?" He smiles. "What apartment?"

"14B."

"14B," he repeats, "isn't that Ryo's place?"

Temari nods, "I'm moving in. Tomorrow, actually. I was supposed to meet him here to get a copy of the key but work must have held him. And then the rain started." She shrugs and looks above at the awning. His — and now _their_ —building doesn't have any awning to protect against the rain, so she had run next door.

"Wow," the man laughs, "a coincidence, surely." He pulls his umbrella under his arm and extends his hand. "I'm Shikamaru." He says. "We're going to be neighbors. I live right next door."

Temari takes his hand. His grip is strong and warm.

"Temari."

He smiles through closed lips.

"Temari," he says, "come upstairs, will you? I'll make a top-off until Ryo comes back."

"It's hardly time for a top-off," she counters, but she slides under his now open umbrella any way and together they run towards their building.

 

 

 

Shikamaru is right next door — directly, it turns out. They have never met, though Temari knows a handful of her soon-to-be neighbors already.

Shikamaru gestures towards the kitchen as soon as they enter. "Would you like some coffee?"

"Tea, if you have it."

"Okay."

On his way to the cabinet, he pulls back a chair from his two person coffee table in the kitchen. "Please, sit." He has the same layout of his place as Taro's, and because of that, something feels vaguely familiar although their decor is completely different.

"You're not home very much, are you?" Temari asks, taking a seat. Shikamaru doesn't glance at her as he puts the kettle on a few feet away.

"I usually work long hours," he replies, sorting through a small box of tea bags. "Still, I'm surprised we haven't met." He turns his head and smiles. "How long have you two been together?"

"A little over a year."

Shikamaru nods customarily, but she has a feeling he thinks she is moving too quickly in her relationship.

"I am finishing my Master's in a few months," she continues, feeling the need to explain, "and am having to find somewhere to live anyway. I don't mean to say I am moving in for convenience's sake ... but the rent is half what I'd pay anywhere else."

"I don't mean to intrude."

"Not at all."

The kettle starts to hum and they wait in silence for a minute before he turns off the heat.

"So," he ventures after the water has boiled and he'd positioned the steaming mug in front of her and taken his seat opposite. "What are you studying?"

"Physics."

He frowns and leans back, seemingly disappointed with the answer. "You're a physics major? At which university?"

She returns his expression. "Y?"

"Then I think I know who you are." Shikamaru manages to make an inhale sound like a sigh. "Is your younger brother engaged to Ino Yamanaka?"

"Wait — you know my brother?"

"Very well, actually." Shikamaru smirks . "Ino is my best friend."

"Oh. _Oh."_ Temari laughs. "The boy that stood me up?"

It was two years ago. She had just moved back to town and been put on a blind date with a partner that had never made an appearance.

"Something came up," he justifies.

Temari waves her hand. "No matter, now."

He gives a small smile. His eyes are so dark, she has trouble distinguishing the color from the pupil. "No," he says, "I guess not."

 

 

 

"I'm not so sure about him," Taro says the following night.

Temari rolls her eyes. "What does that even mean?"

"He's suspicious."

"Of doing what? You think you're living next to some hardened criminal?"

Taro sighs and rolls over. "No, not like that."

"Please, then, enlighten me."

Taro thinks on this for a while. Had he not been taking such ill-paced breaths, she would've thought him asleep.

"He is pretty quiet," Taro begins eventually. "Keeps mainly to himself. He is good-looking, though. And successful. Kind, I guess — on the outset. But there is something obnoxious about him. Arrogant. Don't you think? I heard he is some kind of child prodigy, which is probably what it comes from. Works the government now." Taro yawns. "Still not an excuse to be full of it."

Temari shrugs. Sure, he has all the elements of being cocky, though he probably was equipped with all the truths to back it up. She doesn't like arrogance as a general matter of principle. That doesn't mean she doesn't find it sexually attractive. She isn't going to say that thought. After all, it is only her first night since "moving in" and they are already bickering over an insignificant neighbor.

"Well," she responds, turning to the real problem, "if you'd shown up on time, I wouldn't have been indebted to him at all."

"Indebted? What does _that_ mean?"

"It means I'll invite him over for dinner. Or buy him tea."

There is silence for a moment, then Taro laughs quietly and rolls over to be half on-top of her. "Look at you," he whispers into her neck. "Here for two hours and you're already seducing the neighbors."

She can't help the smile. "No, just the ones that feed me."

Temari doesn't mention that they almost went out once. There is no point in minor, unimportant details, and her boyfriend is irrationally jealous. And there was no reason for him to be, so.

 

 

 

Temari fully moves in the following week. The lease is co-signed. The key to her old place returned to the dorm manager. Her boxes almost emptied and piled on the living room floor.

Taro had been working more than usual and most of Temari's time is taken up between finishing papers and submitting various PhD and job applications. Still, she is keeping house well. Cooking rather than going out. Doing her laundry more than once a week. She is twenty-seven and has never lived with someone other than her brothers and on her own.

She sees Shikamaru more often now too. He leaves around the same time she does in the morning. Him, to work, her, to jog around the park.

"You keep better shape than me," he had said the first day they'd met in the elevator.

She resisted looking him over, remembering that his form had seemed lean and his forearms had bared (what she now figured to be inherent) muscle. Always unfair.

"Come run with me, then," she had countered, but he only smiled and grabbed the paper on his way out the door, lifting it in a wave goodbye.

She doubts he'll join her. People who don't exercise — especially people un-wavered by aesthetic need — rarely take up running. But she asks anyway.

She falls into casual friendships and proposals with some of the other neighbors too. The mother in 1F does her laundry the same time Temari does. And the elderly man across the hall had studied in her same program some fifty years before and is happy to tell her tales of his time while his wife makes her and Taro dinner. And the building manager accepts the coffee she brings him one morning in exchange for moving some furniture.

In all, life has settled in.

 

 

 

"Temari!" Ino begins, "I had no idea you were moving in here!"

Temari steps aside to invite her in. "Yeah, I moved in last month."

"I heard. Shikamaru only just mentioned it though — otherwise I would've come over sooner! I didn't even know you were moving in with your boyfriend. Kankuro never said anything."

"It was kind of a last minute decision."

Ino stops walking when she is in the middle of the living room.

"I like what you've done with it." She pauses and turns her head, grinning, "I never even knew that Taro lived here. What a coincidence."

Temari shrugs. "We never had an opportunity to meet."

"Good thing you two never dated, huh?" She moves to the windowsill, leaning against it to face Temari.

Temari laughs. "It wouldn't've worked out anyway."

Ino raises her brow.

"He is too much of a hot shot for me. I like simple, boring people."

"He's not flashy," Ino interjects, "if that's what you mean."

"Well he certainly isn't humble."

Ino doesn't argue that.

"Well, from what I've heard from him, you two aren't as boring and domestic as you'd like to think," Ino declares, nodding her head in mock-sincerity, "apparently the walls are thinner than you might imagine."

"All the fighting?" Temari feigns.

Ino waves her hand in dismissal. "Oh no, certainly all the sex."

 

 

 

She is living in 14B for three months before Shikamaru rings the bell.

"Are you coming?"

She looks him up and down from across the doorframe. He is wearing black sweat pants and a black tee shirt. His muscle is long and corded up his arms, but he looks awkward in the sweats regardless.

"Running?"

"Is my invitation rescinded?"

Temari blinks.

"No. Not at all." She is still in pajamas though. It is a Saturday after all, and he must know she doesn't run on the weekends.

Then again, just because she has inadvertently memorized his schedule doesn't mean the occurrence is reciprocal. That thought is kind of upsetting. After all, it's not like she _cares._ She, apparently, is just more observant.

"Let me go get dressed," she says, pulling the door wider to let him in. "I'll only be a minute."

He walks past her and she shuts the door behind him, putting a finger to her lips.

"He's still sleeping," she says quietly, leaving Shikamaru in her living room as she sneaks back in the bedroom to get some clothes.

 

 

 

They stop by the reservoir, Shikamaru lacing his fingers behind his head as she takes a seat on a bench.

"So?" She asks, "you doing okay?"

Seemingly unable to form words, he shakes his head with vigor.

"You should be healthier." She says, closing her eyes in the sun. It is early enough on the weekend that only joggers and bikers are out. "You're young! You should have better stamina."

When he doesn't respond, Temari opens her eyes. He is looking at her strangely and she momentarily realizes if what she said could be construed as being sexual.

"Perhaps," he says, and leaves it at that, though he keeps staring at her.

Aesthetically he had nothing to worry about — he could fill out a suit, certainly. But for things like... yes, sex, well, wouldn't it be better to be in shape?

Still, Temari watches him as he turns from her and goes to sit beside her, long limbs tucking under. The day is hot to begin with and she is already sweating significantly, yet she can still feel the heat rise off him in waves.

Temari can't help the pounding of her heart. She is an adult — has been for a while now. Inadvertently thinking about sex with someone shouldn't feel as intrusive as it does for her in that moment.

Shikamaru turns his head to smirk at her. "We should stop now."

"We're barely halfway," she protests, ignoring the sure blush on her neck.

"I'm lazier than you think." He replies, standing and walking back in the direction they'd come from. "And more pessimistic."

"This is the first time I've seen this side of you," she follows.

He tilts his head, thinking. "You're right," he mutters, "I guess it is." Then he breaks into a smile and they talk easily the rest of the way home.

 

 

 

She is happy with Taro. She has finished her school and has yet another framed degree gathering dust in her desk.

She likes the security of a spouse that will provide for her while she finds a practical application for her education. She _loves_ her home and the ease of domesticity.

Her _interest_ in him (if it even could be called that) is only natural. He is entertaining and she has time on her hands. It doesn't mean she will act on anything. Or pursue anything. Everyone flirts. Everyone fantasizes. No one falls in love with strangers or anything of the sort.

 

 

 

They go running every Saturday now. And some Fridays. It is a little thing — only once or twice a week. And they never speak much. They don't interact much at all, really. Just running partners.

She tells Taro about this relationship.

What she doesn't mention is that their paths cross more now. She sees him every morning as usual, but now at nights as well. Sometimes at the grocery store and twice at the bank.

It is nothing worth defining. They are neighbors. And stuff like this happens. During lunch he often passes by the window of the coffee shop she frequents. They both live and work in similar vicinities. Nothing at all is even _present_ to define.

 

 

 

That's why, the first time he says anything she is taken wholly by surprise.

She'll admit to a casual flirtation, but there is little innuendo — less than she has with some people — and never anything inappropriate. At least, nothing inappropriate said aloud. She thinks about him. More than necessary and almost certainly more than healthily. She just hadn't known the feeling to be reciprocal.

It happens on a Wednesday afternoon, almost half a year after they'd met beneath the awning in the rain.

She is having breakfast in a diner a few blocks from her place when Shikamaru walks in with another man dressed similarly. They are engaged in conversation and take a seat by the window without waiting to be seated. She rarely comes here, and never at this time, so it is reasonable to assume that he is a regular.

The man he is with compliments him well and they look close. A coworker, probably. They are both dressed for business, at least. They have good heights and would probably make an attractive couple.

As soon as they sit, Temari turns back to her tea and book. She doesn't manage to finish a sentence though before the chair opposite her creaks with a new weight.

"Stop staring at me like that."

Temari raises her brows. He is staring at her, eyes dark and piercing and so deeply penetrating she has trouble breathing.

"Please stop." He asks sincerely.

She moves back, leaning further away. The heat coming off him — always so palpable — is worse now, expanding in her lungs and making her palms sweat.

"I feel it, you know." His eyes skim all over her face, searching for some kind of response. "Your eyes on me. Everyday."

Temari moves to say something, utterly taken aback, but thinks twice and sips her tea before deciding on how to respond.

Her heart is a pounding and she has no control on her actions.

"You watching me like that," Shikamaru continues in the interim, eyes focusing in on hers, "will give me the wrong idea."

He isn't leaning over the table and there are more than two feet between them, but if he were to pull out a cigarette — something she'd seen him do recently — she would be breathing in his smoke.

She can't help herself. Her whole body is burning. "And what kind of idea is that?"

Shikamaru doesn't take the bait. Instead he just sits and stares. If his sternum wasn't moving so quickly with each coming breath, she would have thought him completely at ease. Though she has a feeling, if anyone were touch him, even with only the tip of a finger, he would snap like a taut rubber band.

She supposes she feels similarly.

 

 

 

It is natural to have a crush on someone. You can't help being attracted to another person, regardless of your current relationship status. The only thing she can control is how far she lets it go.

So when they ride down the elevator together every morning in complete silence, she clenches her fists so there is more of an excuse as to why her palms are so sweaty.

 

 

 

The first Saturday that Shikamaru doesn't show up at her door, she decides to show up at his. They hadn't been speaking more than the usual small talk for a few weeks, but they still run together.

Only this time, instead of him standing on the other side of her door, she is pressing her index into his doorbell.

And when the door pulls open it is not Shikamaru on the opposite side. Rather, a woman, probably closer in age to Temari than Shikamaru, answers. She is clearly wearing clothes that don't belong to her.

"Oh," Temari says, smiling politely at the girl, "Sorry I w—"

As though she felt new eyes on her, Temari glances up and over the girl's shoulder. Shikamaru is at the opposite end of his living room, bare arms crossed over a bare chest.

He is staring at her again. Eyes dark and calculating. He raises his brows. Challenges.

She has never seen him shirtless and she wonders if he know what it does to her. She sees men shirtless all the time, literally on at least one billboard or poster every street corner. Why is it so bothering when he is doing it?

"I didn't mean to interrupt." Temari tries again. "I'll see you later."

She turns around before the girl can speak and walks into her apartment, taking care not to slam the door behind her.

 

 

 

 

So what, he has sex? Everyone does. Everyone should. Curious choice of partner. She was interesting looking. Attractive, but not conventionally and Temari wants to laugh because _of course_ his partners would be super cool and interesting looking. He was.

This girl is probably more attractive than Temari. Probably suits him even better.

Sipping a glass of water, she thinks that perhaps it was truly _good_ that they hadn't met two years previous. She would have fallen hard and he wouldn't have meant to make some light flirting affect so significantly.

 

 

 

 

"Did you hear them?" Taro asks one evening as he gets back from work.

"Hear who?"

"Last night. Nara's woman?"

Temari frowns from her position at the table. "I didn't hear anything out of the usual. Why?"

Taro puts down his briefcase and loosens his tie. "There are thin walls," he says, sitting down opposite her, "so sometimes you can hear someone going at it."

"Did you hear something?"

He shakes his head, "but when I left for work this morning, I saw a woman leaving his place. And she definitely wasn't a sister."

Temari exhales in a half-laugh.

"When the bed was in the other room," Taro explains, gesturing to what was now the guest room. "I would sometimes hear sex noises. Faint, but loud enough to know what they were. He probably heard us too, so."

He did, it was why she had wanted to change the bedroom, she wants to say, but Temari stops herself and tilts her head in curiosity at his comment. She had never told Taro what Ino had mentioned. She had no reason not to tell him, especially when her crush on Shikamaru hadn't permeated her thoughts yet, but for some reason she'd never mentioned it.

 

 

 

 

Monday morning, in their usual elevator ride, Shikamaru asks whether she had slept well. They are both facing forward in silence until this point.

"We slept well," she says, eyes tracing the landing meter above her head. They are almost to the bottom. "We moved the master bedroom to the East side of the apartment because of the greater view."

Shikamaru inhales and holds his breath.

He doesn't say anything until he has the paper in hand and is holding the front door open for her.

"Good," he breathes. She makes a right and he makes a left out of the door, as they do every morning.

 

 

 

 

Temari isn't sure what Shikamaru's game plan is or what he is hoping to achieve.

He admitted that he may feel something for her. Or, at least, hinted that he may begin to.

But was he trying to sleep with her? Or turn her away from him? Did he want her?

As she found, it is harder to react when you don't know the other's intention.

That morning two weeks ago, with the partially dressed woman and the smell of sex, with his white skin and the slight spatter of hair on his chest and leading further into his pants, he had looked at her with a question. A _so, what now? What are_ you _going to do about it?_

But is he asking her? He _was_ the one that had asked her to stop. What did he want her to do now?

And worse: why was his challenge so goddamn inviting?

 

 

 

Friday night, Temari goes to pick up take out for herself. On her way back in, Shikamaru is holding hands with some other girl a few feet behind her on the street. She holds open the door.

It is a different one this time. Still dark haired and still tall. Still perfect (or as close as one can come, probably).

They all three ride the elevator in conversational silence, though there are occasional breaths and small laughs from the girl as she and Shikamaru stand behind Temari. Temari is out as soon as the opening door is wide enough for her to fit through, walking down the hallway and sticking her key in the lock.

She hears them close his door a few seconds later. It is ten minutes before she hears them in bed. And not faint, as Taro had said. She hears them from her living room. Loud and banging against the wall. She wonders how — up against? From behind? Hands in frustration?

It isn't as intimidating as she might have thought, though. She hears Shikamaru. Really _hears._ He is loud and vocal and she can here the _there_ and _I like it here's._ She thinks, for having gotten so head-spun just thinking about having sex with him, the real thing — at least, the audio — really isn't all the impressive. It sounds like common porn, which is fine. And good. And really arousing in itself. It's just not what she _wants._

Still, Temari is bothered and turns on a film louder than necessary in hopes to get some sort of point across.

 

 

 

 

"She was cute." Temari says the next morning on their run. He had come to the door today, apparently finishing his date earlier than the one two weeks ago.

Shikamaru doesn't say anything. He has gotten in better shape and now is able to get a few words out while moving, though only every fifteen minutes or so. Still, she supposes his silence isn't because of exercise.

"Did you kick her out too?" Temari continues with a smile.

Perhaps, she thinks, if she pushes the lightness, she won't feel so heavy around him.

"I don't kick women out all the time." He justifies shortly.

Temari laughs as they turn a bend. "So they run out every morning as fast as they can on their own initiation?"

Shikamaru shrugs.

"Maybe you're shit in bed?"

She can hear the grin in his voice. "You tell me."

She confirms what she'd figured already: that he was being so loud purposefully. Purposefully, for _her._

"I wouldn't know."

"No," he says, slowing down as the reached the reservoir and not looking in her direction, "I suppose not."

Still, for some reason, as they pause, the mood is significantly easier and lighter than it has been for the past few months.

 

 

 

 

Shikamaru keeps it up though. The sex — that is, not the tension.

Every week, like clock work, she will hear him fucking someone. It is harder to make out when there is conversation or television in her own place, but even Taro will stop himself mid-sentence to listen.

The next morning, she and Shikamaru always go on a run together. They keep a few feet apart and don't speak anymore about sex. Temari spends most of her time complaining about finding a job and Shikamaru, when he does manage to string together a few sentences, complains about Ino and the upcoming wedding plans. They run over her job applications and he gives her contacts in academia.

She still watches him though. And when she doesn't, she feels him looking for her. She isn't sure what _this_ is, but there is no denying it _is_ something.

 

 

 

 

"He used to come quieter."

"Jesus," Temari says, "stop talking about it. We're workout buddies. I don't want to be thinking about his spunk."

"I wasn't talking about his semen," Taro retorts, shrugging. "And it's not like I enjoy thinking about another guy's come." He pours himself a cup of coffee from the pot and takes a seat at the table. "I wouldn't have even registered the difference if his sex-life wasn't so apparent."

Temari glances up from the Sunday Edition and gives him a look before going back to the paper.

"All I mean is, a few years ago, you would barely hear anything from his apartment. He had moved in right out of college, if I remember correctly. Took his girlfriend. I was moving in around the same time, so I remember. He had money from his father or something."

Temari folds the paper and settles back to show she is listening.

"He lived there with her for a while... I think she moved out three years ago? Two and a half? It was around Christmas. Just up and left, as far as I could tell. He was kind of out of it for a while. Mail piled up. Friends would come bang on the door and he wouldn't answer even though he seemed to be home. You know, dramatic stuff like that."

"What happened to the girl?"

Taro shrugs. "Not a clue. She was cute. Young. Was nice to me."

She nods. "Right, so," she raises her brows, "back to his orgasm..."

"He used to have quiet sex. Even when he would finish, you could always tell because there would be a lot of gradually heavier breaths and then suddenly silence."

Temari laughs lightly. "Wow, thank you for that information."

"Well I never really thought about it," Taro continues, "except now that the sex is so loud, it reminded me of a long time ago. Makes me wonder."

"Maybe she was the one directing the sex?" Temari muses, "she might have liked it quiet? You should be happy for him, coming out of his shell."

Taro laughs. "No, even after her he was like that. For a while after she left he had sex with _everyone._ Men, women. Older, younger. Definitely took the rebound thing to heart. You would see them coming and going like he was running a restaurant. After a while it calmed down, but he never had sex with any of them loudly."

"So in your inventory of our neighbor's climactic sounds, you've calculated this as a recent development?"

He sighs. "Inadvertently," he says, "I guess I noticed, yeah."

Temari shakes her head and looks back down at her paper. But she can't make it through one sentence, reading without comprehension. Instead, she thinks about Shikamaru.

She thinks about sex and about relationships and how her toes curl when she thinks of him and yet she knows absolutely nothing about his life or his loves.

But she also thinks about what he is doing. And his intentions with her. She wonders about his ex and his string of lovers. He is doing something similar now — only with none of the versatility he'd apparently had before: Only women. Young ones. Beautiful ones. Ones that intimidate her. So, rationally, he either only recently discovered and solidified his taste in one type of woman, or, probably less likely, he is trying to make Temari jealous.

If true, she is well-versed these days in the warmth that runs through her body at the thought.

 

 

 

 

She doesn't like being wishy-washy. She doesn't like being stubborn, or demanding one solidified thing. She doesn't like being dishonest.

She loves Taro. Still. Her love isn't _waning,_ really. Not even changing.

But she wants Shikamaru. Badly. Sure, it no longer feels like her world is falling apart, but she still finds her eyes following him. She is just more used to it now.

She likes him beside her. She likes the height difference. The heat coming off him. She likes standing _with_ him.

It is a little thing, but something she never recognizes with her boyfriend. Never had.

 

 

 

 

Temari bumps into Shikamaru completely accidentally near the beginning of spring.

She normally knows exactly when and where they will see one another. But tonight, she is out to a play with Taro and Shikamaru is at what appears to be a work function across the street. They meet outside the bar as she is leaving and he is entering.

"I just stopped for a drink. Taro 's waiting for me at the door to the theater," she explains.

Shikamaru nods, smiles. He brushes the bangs out of his eyes. She has butterflies and feels jittery everywhere. Perhaps it is the unexpectedness of seeing him, the lack of preparedness she usually cultivates in his presence.

"Seeing anything interesting?"

"I doubt it," Temari responds, smiling.

He reflects her expression, lips turning up and she can't help the observation.

She can feel him watching her stare at his mouth.

"I—" he begins, then stops.

"Yes," she says, with absolutely no idea as to what was going to come out of his mouth.

Then, because her filter seemed to have completely slipped out from under her, she says: "Three years ago." He takes a breath. "I... you," she stares up at him, "you should have come. I was waiting."

She waited for an hour and he never showed. She had been annoyed but not angered. She didn't know him then. But now she hates him, _loathes him,_ for it.

"I know." He says instantly, before she can even finish her sentence. As though he knows exactly what time she is referencing. She waits for him to say it again as the initial comment had ended in a way that bore more follow-through in the inclination he'd used. But he says nothing.

They are silent for a beat longer than socially common. Then she turns and walks to the theater and he continues inside the building.

"Was that Nara?" Taro says when she finds him across the street.

"Yeah," Temari says, reaching into her bag for her lipstick. "I just bumped into him outside. I guess he had a work thing around here."

Temari doesn't mention that they almost went out once. There is no point in minor, unimportant details, and her boyfriend is irrationally jealous. And, this time, there are lots of reasons for him to be.

 

 

 

 

The second time Temari enters Shikamaru's apartment, it has been almost exactly a year since the first time, and once more, she is dripping wet.

"I gave you an umbrella," is what he says upon opening the door.

"Firstly," she responds, "you _offered_ to give me an umbrella. Then we came up here, so you never gave it to me."

He thinks about this for a minute, and then, in silence, pulls the door further open and steps aside to let her in.

"You don't have company?" She asks. "It's a Friday night after all."

"No," he says, walking to his bathroom to grab a towel, "not tonight."

He doesn't say _you're here_ even though she can see the remark on the tip of his tongue.

He hands her the towel and she takes it, gripping the white terrycloth between her fingers but not moving to dry off. She'd come in the rain purposefully, hoping to deter herself physically as she was having trouble emotionally.

"I don't have a spare key, if that's what you're after."

"No," she breathes, taking two steps inside before stopping. "I got the job. I just... I wanted to tell you. Because you helped, you know. Talking through applications with me."

Shikamaru grins for a moment and then lowers his mouth into a smirk, probably trying to look cool. "Congratulations," he offers sincerely. "Really, I'm happy for you. You don't have to worry anymore."

She shakes her head. "Nope. No more anxiety. It's what I want."

"I know," he says, smile lightening now. "Are you going to celebrate?"

She pauses for an instant, just momentarily, because: no. She wasn't going to celebrate. She hadn't told Taro yet. She was aware, when she'd come here, but she thought the job less important. She had something else she'd wanted to say, and the words about the job had slipped out, mostly as a means of distracting from her actual purpose.

Temari had been hoping for a way to casually let him know, but the more he looks at her, the more she realizes there is no way to let the comment into a conversation naturally.

"Maybe." She answers instead. "But that's not why I'm here."

He raises a brow in interest.

She makes effort to not avoid his eye contact although his gaze is much too piercing.

"I just wanted to let you know that I listen."

His eyes move across her face as though the answer might be in her features. "Excuse me?"

"I listen," she says again, "you don't have to be so loud all the time."

Shikamaru swallows and out of the corner of her eye, she sees him making a fist.

"You come silently," she says. "I know. It doesn't matter how loud you are, because I'm always listening."

With that, she sidesteps to the coffee table and drops the unused towel over the side of a chair. Shikamaru doesn't move to do anything as she turns and walks out the door.

 

 

 

 

She realizes the problem.

She is using him as a scapegoat for her own feelings.

Of course she wants him. So badly, he's nearly driven her mad.

She thinks about him all the time. She tracks his movements and plans her time around him and where he is going to so that she may intercept. She imagines their conversations, and when anything interesting happens at all, she imagines telling him about it.

But he isn't the reason she is betraying her relationship. An instigator, at most, but it really has little to do with him.

 

 

 

 

They only speak once after that. A handful of sleepless nights later, on the rooftop of the hotel after Kankuro and Ino's wedding.

It is a fight. And it isn't pretty.

He follows her up to the privacy of the roof without any provocation.

"Do you?" He asks, continuing where she had left him, a step behind her as she exits the doorway of the building.

Temari turns her head back in question.

"Do you really listen?"

Temari takes a deep breath. She should have never said anything.

"It's for you," he continues, "it all is. Everything I do."

She fully turns now. The wind is cutting and her cheeks feel raw. Shikamaru looks disheveled though the party has only recently begun.

"Stop."

"Me?" He licks his lips. They look dry. "I had nothing to do with you." Shikamaru turns away from her now, pacing between the vents, "I was living my life peacefully until you walked into it. Wet and charming and so very _enticing."_ He waves his hand, "watching me, _listening_ to me... what did you want, Temari? Some flirtation with your next door neighbor as you settled down into your perfectly nice Stepford life?"

She bites her tongue. "Of course not!"

He laughs, sharp and angry. "So, you fucking well got it."

"I never wanted this. I never _wanted_ anything. You think I planned this? I feel like _shit... All the time."_ Temari takes a breath, pausing for a minute. Except he is telling the truth. She is horrible and manipulative and _so fucking selfish._ "You're right," she says. "You're right. Everything I've done to you..." she swallows. "I've been so unfair."

He takes a step forward. "I love you." He says, loudly and desperately, but it is no matter.

"You never said anything."

"I thought you knew."

There is a longer silence this time. Another gust of wind hits, blowing her dress and cutting like razors against her calves, but she can't feel it. Her body is already numb with self-loathing. After all, she is up here, with him, and downstairs she has her whole family waiting.

"You're too late."

"To tell you? When was a good time?" Shikamaru balks. "Three years ago? Was that it? Had I shown up, had I made it to our _blind-date,_ then it would be okay?" He sighs in exasperation and throws up his hands. "So, then, are you with him because he _came first?_ This isn't some test of loyalty, Temari, this is your life."

"Of course not," she strikes back. "Of course I'm not with him because I met him first. How can you think that?"

"Well, from where I'm standing it's looking a lot like that is what happened. Either that or I am just some plaything you can string around when you're feeling bored."

"Don't be an idiot," she snaps. "What I meant was: if I'd met you first. If, when you were actually supposed to show up, you had, well, I would have fallen so _madly_ in love with you, you would never have been able to get rid of me."

That shuts him up.

"It's true." she says, looking down at her shoes before facing him again. "But you never came. And so I moved on and loved someone else and lived a different life."

They are both silent for a while.

"Now though," he says eventually, "if I asked you to leave him... to leave him for me, would you?"

 

 

 

 

She leaves Taro on a Thursday night. Not for Shikamaru. For herself.

They sit on opposite sides of the living room. He is silent the whole time.

"I thought I wanted this," she says, head in her hands, "I did. I really thought so." He sighs, but doesn't say anything.

She had gone through school wanting to settle down. Wanting to secure a job and start a family. She likes the ease of love. She likes the domesticity of having a home and a commitment. She thought it was what she wanted.

But it wasn't. It isn't.

She doesn't know what she wants. But she wants something else

 

 

 

 

Temari pauses mid-step to lift the box higher in her arms. The wrapping paper is some sort of sickening pink with purple and yellow rubber ducks and Temari can't believe she is actually attending one of these voluntarily. More, she can't believe she is about to be an aunt. She is only thirty years old. Honestly.

(Okay, so some people had kids already. She didn't. All her friends didn't. This was the _first_ one.)

The doorman holds open the door for her and then moves to press the button for the elevator. She smiles, steps inside, and tries to precariously balance the over-sized Jumperoo on her hip so she has a chance to move her hair behind her ear lest it become plastered to her forehead. It is June. And hot. And she is stupidly wearing long sleeves.

With her elbow, she presses the button for the fourth floor.

"Oh, M'am," the doorman says. She belatedly hears someone enter the building as the doors begin to shut and Temari practically drops the box trying to reach out and stop the elevator. An instant before her Temari's gets there though, the person running to catch her sneaks his arm through too.

"Thank you," he breathes, stopping in front of her. He only gets out half the breath though. She thinks, perhaps, he is in some sort of shock, as common courtesy would ask him to move to her side instead of standing in front of her, halted. She, on the other hand, miraculously, is completely in control of her faculties.

It is silent until he, very quietly, says: "I wondered if you were going to be here." Temari takes a step back.

Shikamaru is wearing a black sweater over a collared shirt and he fills it out better than before. His hair is shorter, his jaw less angled. He is darker now too, in his complexion. All things that make him look older, but still so poignantly recognizable.

She has wondered the same thing: if he was going to be here. Honestly, she had already planned out her speech.

There is a beat, and then Shikamaru steps beside to stand beside her, letting the elevator doors close in front of him.

Temari takes a deep breath. Her heart is pounding and all she can hear is the blood in her ears, but she has waited for this. Waited three years.

It was purposeful, the waiting. She had not run to his door the moment she'd broken up with her boyfriend. She had needed time. Time to figure out what she wanted. And she knew now. She wanted her own life. And she wanted a part of his.

Shikamaru is holding his breath. She can tell by his stiffness beside her.

She has no clue whether he still wants her. Whether he is married to someone else now. Or seeing someone. She has no idea what his life entails; which puzzle pieces fit together to form him these days. All she loves is a memory. But is a memory of him. And hopefully, she thinks, that is enough.

"I love you," she says without precursor, turning to stare at him openly. The words are gentle. Easy. As though it hadn't been years since she'd first thought them. "I've always loved you." She smiles for a brief moment. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before."

Shikamaru exhales and snaps his head in her direction.

His eyes scan her face, just as dark and inquisitive as they used to be.

Eventually, the elevator reaches the landing and Shikamaru smiles, low with satisfaction and ease.

"I know," he says, taking a step out of the elevator.

Temari exhales quickly into a grin, eyes tracing their way over him as he offers his hand to her.

Suddenly, everything seems to ridiculous — the elevator, the apartment, _him._

Once she starts laughing, she can't stop. And then he starts too. Loud laughs that Temari wants to feel inside of her. She wants to capture the warm sound of his mouth, taste it on her tongue. Without paying much attention to anything else — the not quite empty hallway, the baby-shower only a few doors down — Temari drops her gift in the middle of the floor and reaches for him, thinking only of those laughs on her lips, and presses them against his.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .
> 
> Many thanks to apps and abbyhatake for the help!


	6. On Copenhagen

 

Temari taps the paper in front of her idly with her pen. There are currently only three students sitting in the rows before her. It is technically a lecture hall they’re in, but she is only expecting twenty-one students and a lot of empty seats. Or twenty students, as fate will probably have it. The sign-in sheet is in front of her: a list of twenty-one names and a little box to write which seat they are occupying.

Two minutes till class begins and another ten students have arrived, more coming seemingly every second. By the time the clock in front of her hits two, she rises and walks to the edge of the stands. The room is silent apart from her shoes clicking on the wood floor, along with two tardy students closing the door and each taking a spot. Temari hands the clipboard with the attendance list to the first boy there and he signs his seat against his name and passes the board along.

After her professor memorizes their names, the students will be free to sit anywhere. It shouldn’t take long. Already she recognizes half of them, all but one of them from their class last semester, Advanced Theoretical Physics III. This was Advanced Theoretical Physics IV. The other one she knows is the dark-haired boy sitting in the third-from-last row. He had lived with her younger brother when Gaara was a freshman, but she’s never really met him before.

Temari’s job was to take attendance, of course, among many other things. But she has also been not-so-subtly hinted at by her professor to weed out the student that had not done his or her reading. Yesterday, on Monday, a syllabus, manual, and course packet had been left in the lab for mandatory pick-up by every student. All but one had come to take his or her copy, so, likely, only one person hadn’t done the reading.

Her professor is strict about things like this. He has a strict attendance policy and is generally unforgiving in nature. If there is a student he could publicly shame for not having done the reading, Professor Baki was sure to do it. So, it is Temari’s job to point out that student for her professor to call on. Hey, she does get paid.

Once the list has been passed around and returned, Temari takes her seat in a desk by the corner and starts looking over the names and checking them against the list from yesterday. She knows the only one not to claim the packet was Shikamaru Nara, and now she knows which student he is: the one who knows Gaara.

She looks up at him only to find him staring down at her. His eyes are bright and dark, something she has never seen exist together so apparently as she does now, even from across a hall.

She doesn’t mark anything down though. Instead, she holds his gaze, not questioning or daring to look down. He looks at her without threat or interest, really, he is just looking. Not even as though he is trying to recollect where he’s seen her before. But a second later her vision is marred by her professor standing in front of the desk.

“Is everything good?” He asks, quiet enough for the rest of the room to not hear.

Temari nods. There was a split second before he leaves her desk and walks to the podium where he is waiting for her to show him the attendance sheet for the seat of the, in his words, _slacker_. But she doesn’t do anything. After all, he never asked explicitly. So Temari says nothing and he walks to the podium.

When she looks back at the stands, Shikamaru Nara is no longer looking her way.

 

* * *

 

She first met Shikamaru Nara over three years ago. She remembers it more distinctly than she remembers anything else about that room. He and Gaara shared a suite with half a dozen other boys. Temari, in her final year of her undergraduate, only came by a handful of times. She is still friendly with Gaara’s roommate (mostly because Gaara still hung around with him), but that is all.

She has specific memories of the table in their common area and the way the window wouldn’t close in Gaara and Naruto’s room. But mostly, she remembers him. The first time she’d come into the suite, Shikamaru Nara -- though only now, almost four years later, did she finally learn his name -- had been the one to let her in.

He had been wearing only his underwear, still half-asleep when he opened the door. She remembers the way he looked and moved. He was still young and skinny, but there was something practically erotic in the way he carried himself, the muscles on the pane of his back seemingly swimming beneath his skin. She had found it odd to be inexplicably attracted to a freshman (she tried not to talk to them on principle, let alone find them appealing) and had quickly let it go when Gaara came out of his room and the half-naked boy back into his.

They’d never said more than _hello_ for the next year. And since then, Temari has seen him maybe a dozen times around campus in a full-three years. And in all that time, he has never even glanced her way. Nor she his, really, in fairness.

Now she is his TA for a physics class required by the major and she has just _majorly_ saved his ass.

She isn’t sure _why_ she’d done it. He is (she thought?) a friend of Gaara’s. And she has never exactly approved of her professor’s methods anyway. Still, if he kept it up he was going to get in trouble anyway. He hadn’t spoken once throughout the entire period, probably because he hadn’t received the assignment, but still... _Now_ is the time to suck-up to a notoriously difficult professor and try and earn some brownie-points before the semester has even really begun.

So, out of some wayward obligation to her students and to her brother’s old suite-mate, Temari finds herself following Shikamaru Nara out of class and down two halls -- far enough away from the classroom -- before calling his name.

He turns as soon as any sound has left her lips, as though he is expecting her.

His eyes are much darker up-close. Black and heavy, surrounded by thick lashes and strong features. Not only are they daunting from this distance, she notices, but when they are trained solely on her, they are so much more piercing than had she just been observing him engaged in another activity.

“Hey,” she begins, hurried and uncomfortable under his scrutiny, “sorry, I just need a minute.” He responds with his body, shifting a foot in front of him to stand with a casual patience. “I’m Temari, your physics TA.”

“I know who you are.” He says, not sounding at all agitated.

“Okay,” she tries, leaning back on her heel. “Well, I just wanted to warn you about Professor Baki. He is short-tempered and easy to anger.”

Shikamaru Nara blinks. “Oh?”

“When he said he was a stickler for the rules, he was serious. His biggest pet-peeves are absences and participation. So really try and show up to class on time. He will penalize you unfairly, even if you have a good excuse.”

Shikamaru Nara eyes her and suddenly his scrutiny seems to turn sexual and Temari thinks she may be feeling herself blush.

“Why are you warning me?” He asks.

“Because,” she says, “it is in my best interest to see everyone pass.” And right now you’re the weakest link, is what she doesn’t say, but hopes it is implied.

“And will you be chasing down everyone else through the halls?” Temari shrugs. “Everyone else picked up their packet.”

Shikamaru Nara moves his body back slightly, just enough for her to notice. He inhales and she watches his eyes close for a second before he is staring at her again.

“I did the reading.” He answers, but he doesn’t give any explanation or excuse.

She is wondering whether to push more or not when he turns on his heel. “See you tomorrow, miss TA,” he says over his shoulder. He walks away before she can say anything else.

If she felt kind towards him five minutes ago, she likes him significantly less right now.

 

* * *

 

She is in the library for the first time in months to checkout a book. There is one copy of it and it is on the second to highest shelf, which is, well, high.

Temari is one of those average heights that is not used to asking for help, but is also not tall enough to be daunted when she cannot reach something on her own. In this case, the tips of her fingers are able to graze the very bottom of the spine. She thinks, if she can get a fingernail or something around the spine dent, she may be able to budge it out enough to be grab-able, or knock-able, in this case.

She tries for it, practically standing on the top of her toes when she feels someone press in behind her. In her field of vision she sees a long arm reach up and take the book down easily.

His shoulder only just touched the back of hers, right along her clavicle for a split second when he reached for the book, but now, although they are fully separated, she is sure she can still feel the heat of his body burning along her back.

It is only a moment before Temari whips her head around to thank him. To see Shikamaru Nara behind her is the last thing she expects. She doesn’t falter though, thanking him and clutching the book to her chest as she waits for him to step away.

She has known him to be taller than her -- had never thought about it really. He is of medium height, she figures, not short by any means, but not tall enough for it to be a striking feature of his physical description. Yet standing between him and the shelf, she is acutely aware of the respective shoulder heights between the two, of the length of collar bone that surpasses hers, and of the flatness of his chest.

She wonders, for only a second before he has stepped back and she is on her way, what it would be like to press her breasts against him.

 

* * *

 

Temari, apart from taking attendance and ratting out students, is responsible for grading papers.

She hates grading papers the most, probably. She has graded two quizzes already and those have all been easy. There is only ever one answer. Essays though, they’re more open to interpretation.

She can’t count the number of times she has completely disagreed with what someone has said, but has had to give them okay grades because they did everything right except convince her.

She has given almost all B’s for these papers. Two B+’s, five B-’s, one C+, and one A. She doesn’t like that A though. And she marks it down reluctantly. Shikamaru Nara had gotten an A on one of the quizzes before this, and he hadn’t shown up to take the other one. But quizzes are easy. Papers are hard. And she thinks it deftly unfair that he not show up to class and still manage to set the curve. He already walks around cocky as hell, she did not need to add any letter grade to his production. Yet, as much as she tries (and she _had_ tried), his paper _is_ great.

It can’t be right though. He is writing on a Galileo dialogue that he hadn’t even been present in class to discuss.

Without thinking too much about it, Temari pulls out her phone and calls her brother. He answers on the first ring.

“I’m grading some papers for Baki,” she says, doodling in the corner of her notepad, “and I think I have one of your old suite mates in my class.”

“Shikamaru,” Gaara answers quickly, apparently well versed in the answer. She wonders why -- did Tenten snitch to Kankuro again? Or were he and Gaara still friendly? Did he know who she was outside of being his TA? -- but it was only for an instant, so quick it might not have even happened: the lines of inquiry tracing out information about him.

“Yeah, Shikamaru Nara. And I was wondering if you remember anything about him as a student?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he hasn’t shown up for class that often and never says a word, but he got an A on his first quiz and now on his paper I’m doing.”

She thinks she can hear Gaara laugh, but it sounds as if the receiver were pulled away from him. “Of course,” he breathes a second later, “Shikamaru is the smartest person I know, just perhaps not the best student. He is lazy and reluctant in almost every activity, but he definitely knows whatever he talks about. He wrote that paper, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

She wasn’t. She didn’t accuse him of anything. It hadn’t passed her mind to. And suddenly she wonders why. _Why_ had she made this call if not to find evidence of his mendacity? But she hadn’t. And she shouldn’t have called Gaara to check in on a student.

“Good.” She says instead. “I just wanted to make sure.”

  
“Not a problem,” Gaara answers. “He’s a really great guy, I think you’d get on well.” “Right,” she gives, not believing it at all. “Thanks.”

After they’ve hung up and Temari has logged Shikamaru Nara’s grade into the computer, she wonders what Gaara could possibly see in this man. Everyday she thinks she likes him less and less.

 

* * *

 

When she hands him back the paper, walking right past his seat, he looks up a half-second too late to see her drop the paper on his desk. There are a dozen notes on the first page, but he doesn’t look down to read it or flip to the back for his grade and paper-break down. Instead, he stares up at her. They haven’t been in such physical proximity since the library and she feels her breath catch in annoyance at the way he stares at her instead of caring more about his grade.

It only lasts a second before she moves away to finish handing out papers to the class. When she eventually returns to her desk, she can feel the burn of his gaze searing into her shoulder, and she deliberately doesn’t look his direction for the rest of the hour.

 

* * *

 

There are twenty-one students and Temari only hates five of them... maybe six. This is her second year as a TA and so far her annoyance at undergraduates is not so bad in comparison to before. Last year, she’d liked more people as a TA than she liked in her graduating class, and she liked more now than she did then.

It’s possible that the students have changed drastically in the past two years. But more likely, she has just become a nicer person.

Which makes sense, probably, when one considers how she took time out of her life to track down Shikamaru Nara and warn him about his impending mid-term grade. Or, at least, she thinks it satisfies as an explanation.

His attendance hasn’t been great. He missed three classes the first month -- and this class only meets three times a week. So, he has attended 3/4 of the whole class and her tutor is giving him a C.

She thinks it justified, sort of. After all, he has been warned (personally, by his TA) that the professor is heavily concerned with these two aspects of the classroom, and still, he has chosen not to perform better in any of these areas. Knowing the material required to write a paper or circle some letters doesn’t fulfill the class requisite.

Still, when Temari finds herself looking through Shikamaru Nara’s file and walking with patient steps over to the library where he worked to warn him about his grade, she can only justify it by saying that _yes_ , she _is_ a nicer person.

Before she’d left, Temari had called to find that Shikamaru Nara worked in the library. That library where she had run into him before. He works there three days a week for seven or so hours at a time, usually at night. So at eight p.m. on a Tuesday, a time better spent alone in her apartment silently ignoring her impending future, she is leaning her elbow on the sort of circle-island counter in the library looking at a little nameplate that says _S. Nara_ as the on-duty librarian.

There are three libraries on campus and this one is easily the smallest. A science library filled with medical texts and then a handful of history of science references. Shikamaru Nara is not currently present, though she can see that a supply closet on the opposite wall is lit.

She is going to give it five minutes, but he comes out in three.

It takes Shikamaru Nara half of the walk from the closet to the desk for him to notice her. It is clear when he does. They lock eyes and he pauses for a split second before looking at the carpet and continuing on until he is before her and staring at her again.

“Can I help you?”

This close, his eyes look even darker. The fluorescent light should be doing absolutely nothing to help the intensity of his gaze, and yet she observes the way the light reflects off his eyelids and parts through the thickness of his eyelashes as he looks down to type something into the computer.

Temari only realizes she has been staring at him without speaking when he stops whatever he is doing and looks back up at her.

“Are you here for a book,” he pauses and raises his eyebrows a minuscule amount, “...again?”

She blinks, snapped out of her scrutiny, and he goes back to work, both fully aware that she was staring. “I’m here for you.” She says, unsure about why she uses purposefully ambiguous words.

Shikamaru Nara raises his brows, pausing again to look at her.

“As a warning,” she says. “I told you to do two things: show up and participate. That’s really the most important thing Baki asks for. It doesn’t matter if you ace everything else. But of course, you haven’t been doing either of the former and now you’re going to receive a C next week for midterms.”

There is no shame or humiliation in his eyes when he tilts his head to her to say: “I’ve read the syllabus--”

“Funny,” she mutters, “seeing as how you never actually received it.”

“--and,” Shikamaru Nara continues as though she hasn’t said anything, “if I calculate my attendance and participation as the most minimal possible and put my midterm exams with one-hundreds, then I should be receiving a C, thus,” he shrugs, “your warning is entirely unnecessary. So, want to tell me again why you’re here?”

Her heart beats faster, untapped rage and all, and Temari squares her shoulders.

  
She was here to be _nice_. To try and be useful and helpful and to perform her position as TA to the utmost. “You clearly _do_ the reading,” she breathes, “so why not say something during class?”

“Grades aren’t really a priority for me.”

It’s like his mouth always seems to form the exact words that press against her chest and push harder until she feels the bone crush beneath. She shouldn’t even really be caring about this. He can fuck his own life if he wants. She doesn’t need to be a part of that. And she has looked him up in the system before. Grades as one with his behavior might expect -- a series of A’s interspersed with only a couple of lower grades, probably from professors that found his holier-than-thou attitude to make him a total and complete _shit_.

He clearly doesn’t care. Why would this class be any different? And why on earth did she care? Why was his complete lack of recognition so _fucking affecting_?

And still, as though knowing exactly what to say to piss her off, he continues through her silence with: “but, _Temari_ , you already knew this, surely. And you knew I could calculate my own grade. So again: want to re-justify your following me to my job?”

It amazes her where the tone comes from, but when she speaks, she sounds calm, resolute in her dismissal and finality; as though everything he has said she has easily shrugged off. And ideally (and completely theoretically) she has. Even if she is sure she is still flushed in anger.

“If you are interested in raising your grade you could show up to my lab hours and not miss anymore class.”

With that, she turns on her heel, wondering why the frightfully taut exchange ended with him smirking at her in amusement.

It’s as though he thinks he has won. And, she supposes, he may have.

 

* * *

 

 

The following Tuesday, during her open lab ours, Shikamaru Nara shows up.

She is standing beside one of the other students while reading some of the manual when he walks in. She only knows he is there because one of the other students beckons him over aloud.

There is an instant in which she inhales at his name and her torso, hunched over the manual, jerks up ever so slightly, as though she is wanting to see him with her own eyes. But she thinks better of it so quickly, Temari is sure the only acknowledgement of his presence is her held breath and quickly blinking eyes.

She only looks at him after she has finished going through a practicum-description with the other students.

He is across the room now, setting up an auto-pulley and tying two strings to it. She had done this paper with some of the other students last week, but Shikamaru Nara had missed it. Here he is now though, and she hears some of his peers asking him about something a lab table over.

There is the first Huygen’s practicum they did. Temari wants to laugh. He has been here all of one hour and has already completed what had taken most students three hours to complete, not to mention he is half-way through another one.

By the time her open-hours end, it is only she and Shikamaru Nara left in the room. She has packed away all of his projects, going through and making small comments on each that he replies to without even looking up.

When she finally leaves, half-an-hour after she stopped getting paid, he walks her out. He has finished six practicums in the span of four hours and, as far as she noticed, without referring back to any manual once.

 

* * *

 

On Thursday, Temari walks into class ten minutes before everyone else. She sets her bag on her desk and pulls out her planner -- she still is unacquainted with the technology of smartphone calendars --, a pen, and the current Huygens paper they are finishing today. After that she goes into the backroom to pull out the attendance booklet and any papers her professor may need for the lecture. When she comes back out a moment later, Shikamaru Nara is sitting up in his usual seat.

He has never been late, but not once has he shown up this early. He is watching her when she closes the office door and she nods in greeting. He mimics the action and she takes her seat. They are in silence for a full two minutes before another student walks in.

He doesn’t miss anymore class after that.

 

* * *

 

 

Two weeks before spring break, Temari walks out of a meeting with her advisor when she spies Shikamaru Nara standing against the wall of the building opposite.

It is clearly not coincidental. As soon as she is in his sights, he pushes himself off the brick and stalks towards her. It is the first warm (okay not warm, just not suicidally freezing) day in months and he is only wearing a coat, not his usual scarf and glove get-up.

Temari stays still, waiting for him to walk up her. He has long legs and long strides, but he takes his time, leisurely and absolutely without any of the mid-term anxiety she always seems to feel.

“There are books waiting for you in the library.” He opens with, not bothering any pleasantries.

“Books?” Temari pauses. Shikamaru Nara has come to a stop before her, standing just a little too close. She wants to take a step backwards, but recognizes that she will come off as weak in whatever little feud they have going on.

“For your thesis,” he explains, “there is are some author-annotation Faraday books and a _Principia_ in the original text.”

She frowns, and before she can respond, Shikamaru Nara glances over her shoulder for a second and then looks back at her, the corner of his mouth turned up. “Are you really going to translate from the Latin?”

“You have my books?” She answers instead. (Of course she is going to translate the original Latin -- or at least some of the lemmas and a handful of the laws -- and definitely with some help, Kankuro was super into Roman theater and was fluent enough to help).

“Well you ordered them, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t put my name down.”

“No,” he shrugs, “I know your dissertation topic, I read the list of papers for your name months ago.”

She recognizes, far off and not in the immediate now, that this is slightly creepy and so incredibly revealing, and a small part of her wonders why he would ever make himself so vulnerable to her; but a greater, more real-time part of her understands what he is saying because she reads every posting for his name. She knows when he works and which classes he takes and even has (not-at-all) subconscious ideas of the paths he takes around everyday. But she would never -- not if they were married with children or anything super fucked-up and unrealistic like that -- never, never, never would tell him that she knows these things. Never would she be this flippantly vulnerable.

But here he is, saying these words without a hint of dread in his voice. As though he knows exactly what game they are playing at and is in total and full control whereas she feels like she is drowning every time she dwells for more than a minute on the way he looks at her and the way she finds herself looking back.

She swallows and responds as easily as she can: “You could have called. I left my number.”

He shrugs again. “They’re there for you when you come by.”

As he turns around and walks away, she realizes how much he struggles to directly address her questions. It seems as though his answers are always two-steps ahead of the rest of the conversation, as though he assumes she knows his answer and has already asked the follow-up and that is what he chooses to respond to.

And just as she is about to turn on her heel and walk the opposite direction, he turns his head and says: “I’m working tomorrow night.”

She thinks, if nothing else, that she may murder him.

 

* * *

 

The worst thing, she muses as she opens the heavy door to the science library, is that she, the moment he'd said it, known she’d be showing up tonight.

He knew it and she knew it too. She knows he is kind of winning this (maybe always has been) and she feels claustrophobic with it.

And the problem is, she _kind of likes it_ : the domination.

Shikamaru Nara is standing behind his desk when she walks into his line of sight and through the periphery of her vision she sees his head snap in her direction. She can almost feel his smirk from ten feet away, but when she turns her face to glance at him head on, he is doing the open-staring thing he does in class sometimes and she has no idea what he means by it. Temari turns her head back and continues in a diagonal path to a row of desks hidden between two shelves somewhere to the left of his counter.

She walks past him without a word and eventually knows she has lost his gaze as she weaves through shelves. When she finally takes a seat, Temari realizes how silent it is. The only sound she can hear is the pounding of blood in her ears.

What the _fuck_ is wrong with her?

She pulls out of her laptop and starts back to typing in some notes. Within two minutes she has forgotten where she is and whoever is in her physical proximity and is just writing, mind filled with electrified cages and the morality of electrocuting the London sewage system. Within two hours, Temari moves away from her computer to go to the bathroom when she sees a stack of books a few feet from her on the desk.

She stands up and runs her fingers over the spines. She hadn’t even been aware of their arrival. She looks around. Shikamaru Nara is nowhere to be seen.

 

* * *

 

 

She comes back occasionally after that, always on his shift, and always when she absolutely has enough work to distract her.

Some nights, Shikamaru Nara comes to sit with her. It will only be for half an hour or so, and during this time, he will always bring his own book. The books are always, surprisingly, nothing physics related. They’re not even scientific. He usually brings in non-fiction, social commentaries, mostly politically based. Sometimes about finance. Once about sexual techniques, which part of her found super humorous, but even that was still one of the only nights in which not even her crushing workload was enough to distract from the proximity of his calf as his leg lay extended beside her.

They won’t speak more than a few words. Sometimes he will comment on a visible note she has jotted down on one of her books or he will give a brief summary of the thesis of his current text of choice.

He never brings the same book twice, even when he is working consecutive days, and she finds herself wondering if he is finishing any of these books in the other twenty-some hours she doesn’t see him, or if he only read the few dozen pages of each when with her.

She realizes what she is doing.

She is well-aware of it, painfully so. He is off-limits. Not just because he is younger or friends with her brother. It isn't something societal, like if he had dated a friend of hers before or anything. It is against the law.

Kind of. She has signed a contract, at least, so the law, as far as it applied to the university. She would not engage is any sort of extracurricular, amorous activity with her students. She could (would, knowing Baki) be fired, would lose her tuition, her source of income, her housing, any sort of recommendation, and thus (likely) a good occupational position in the theoretical physics world.

And yet.

Here she was. Here she is. And she knows Shikamaru Nara was staring at her like this purposefully. Stretching his legs beneath the table purposefully. Showing up to class early, purposefully. They are both well past the realm of wondering what the other is doing.

Now Temari is just wondering what the hell _she_ is doing. 

 

* * *

 

 

It is a Friday night, around her usual bedtime, when she closes her laptop in the library with a movement quick enough to catch Shikamaru’s attention. He is sitting across from her reading a book about flaws in the education system when his eyes flicker up. Seeing she is going to say something, he flips down the top corner of his current page and closes his book patiently. Temari waits for his full attention before beginning.

When he looks back up at her, fingers laced over the wrecked cover of his paperback, she has to take a breath to gather herself.

They don’t talk about much here; but they never, _ever_ , mention school.

She supposes he may see this as a ruse: asking him about class to keep up some sort of appearance. As though she is here as his mentor or something, when both know this is far from the truth.

Still, she is interested. And proud. And she knows -- _knows_ \-- he is only doing this because she went out of her way to pester him:

“I’ve calculated grades to incorporate your last test.” She says, pausing to glance down at the wood table between them for only an instant before meeting his eyes. “You’re up to a B.”

Temari doesn’t know what she expects. A smile? An acknowledgement of how simple this would have been for him if he had done absolutely anymore than the bare minimum?

Instead he just stares at her, his eyes moving a bit -- searching for something, she thinks. Then he shrugs. Lightly and without any hint of condescension. After that, he opens his book and goes back to reading, as though the news that she has delivered is so inconsequential, it may as well have been left unsaid. As though he really truly doesn’t care; which she thinks, he may not.

 

* * *

 

Through the Newton sections, she experiences full-attendance through all of her lab-hours for a whole six weeks. Only one person misses some and that is because she has work on Wednesdays. On the Friday afternoon that she finishes, Temari’s lab hours are long past over, but they are on the verge of completing what feels like half-a-semester’s unit and she feels as though she must stay in the lab just to let everyone finish.

When they do finally finish, it is nine o’clock and generally around Temari’s Netflix time. Still, one of them posits: “what’s that bar you always go to?” And when she answers, the idea of going for a drink is audibly agreed upon by practically the whole class.

And that is how she finds herself at the bar two blocks from her house on a Friday night wearing a suit with her white button-down tucked into her skirt, all the while being accompanied by the class she is TA-ing.

It’s not ideal. But it is (kind of) fun. And she thinks that they do all deserve it.

The bar is crowded by the time they arrive. Already a bunch of college kids have claimed the bar area and the few booths in back. Her students spot out two tables in the middle of the room which will hold maybe fifteen of them, and that liberally thinking. Luckily at least six of them were in the mood to dance anyway.

Temari takes a seat at one of the table, asks for a martini in the order, and spends the rest of the first hour in conversation about her thesis and future-life-plans. The most popular topic for any young adult, really.

She spends the second hour -- after a slightly judgement-impaired round of tequila shots -- bitching about Baki and offering advice from her days as one of his undergrads.

And by the time the third hour has rolled around, Temari has become closer to three kids than she is to half of the students in her three-year PhD program.

Shikamaru though, pointedly, it seems, does not talk to her. He even seems to go out of his way to avoid falling into a conversation that she is part of.

She thinks it’s good, probably. Best not get too close. Especially treading the line drawn between the inside of the library and the outside of their class.

But she doesn’t _feel_ that way.

She is maybe three drinks in and she would bet her life on the fact that he is staring at her, but every time she tries to catch his eye, he is well absorbed in conversation with one of his peers.

She feels it though: the burn of his gaze. She sees no evidence, but this experience seems factual. The fire painting line from her jaw down her neck and sloping over the jut of her shoulder is the trace of his gaze, moving up and down over and over until she feels dizzy and has to stand up.

“Are you okay?” Her current conversation partner asks just as a round of shots arrive at the table.

Temari nods, “I’m just...” she glances over to the bar. “Not nearly as drunk as I want to be.” Someone behind her laughs.

“Have a shot.” The partner tries.

She shakes her head, moving away from the table without giving an excuse. The bar is packed, every seat -- and every inch between them -- occupied. Temari has to physically maneuver two people out of her way for a shot at the tender.

Without having to ask, a glass of water is placed in front of her.

“Hold on.” Tenten says, moving away to fill another order. Temari feels herself nudging the guy next to her so hard, that suddenly there is an empty seat and she slides onto it.

“Full-house,” Temari mutters just loudly enough for Tenten to hear.

“No rest for the wicked,” she replies, never looking up from making her current customer’s drink.

At that exact moment, someone taps Temari’s shoulder and she swings her head around.

“Hey,” one of her students says, “can you ask the bartender for a first-aid kit? Nara cut his hand.”

Tenten, overhearing, barks out a laugh and places a shot of tequila in front of Temari. She takes it without preparation and slips back off the stool.

“No,” she says to Tenten, “apparently not.”

 

* * *

 

None of the bathrooms read Occupied, so she tries the first one and surprises him so much, Shikamaru snaps his whole body back against the ceramic sink without thinking to turn off the running water.

There is a pause, just a moment, in which neither say anything and as the door shuts behind her, the only thing that can be heard is the sound of water running from the faucet to the base of the bowl.

She finds herself staring at him then, something she rarely allows herself to do. He is still leaning against the sink, hands pressed tightly on the lip, the outline of his undershirt stark against the thinner white of his button down. She sees the set of his shoulders and the angle his arm makes at his elbow. She observes the bend of his wrist and the veins in his hands, up to the right thumb which is unavailable to her sight from all the blood coating it.

“Shit,” she breathes, “let me get--” she is out the door before she finishes her sentence, turning into the back-room where the more industrial first-aid kit is.

When she comes back, Shikamaru has turned again to the sink and is silently watching as the blood continues to issue from his wound and wind down into the drain, turning the water a dark pink.

Temari locks the door behind her and moves to stand half-beside him, half-behind him. She opens the kit on the shelf and reaches for his hand.

“You really do come here often,” he say under his breath, eyeing the kit. She weaves her fingers around his palm and adjusts to get a better view of the wound.

“To this place?” She asks. “My roommate bartends most-nights.”

For some reason, the comment seems to loose some of the tension from his shoulders.

They sit in silence for half a minute as she continues to try and wash the cut while giving the blood a chance to coagulate. For some reason, maybe under this particular light, his hand looks delicate. Still, his hands are always dry and today is no exception; but something in the way his fingers bend and the roundness of each knuckle makes them seem more refined.

“I thought you spent all your time in the library?” Shikamaru reaches with his good hand to turn off the water after she pulls him out of it.

“Only three nights a week.” She answers absentmindedly.

Temari is still staring at his finger, watching the clean wound swell once more with blood. There is a half-second pause before it pools enough to begin dripping down his thumb. Her heart beats faster.

She holds his hand up to her face and watches the trail the blood makes down the side of his hand before angling off against the square bones of his wrist. “I think you might need stitches.” She whispers before leaning closer to drag the flat of her tongue from the drop, up back its path down his hand, tracing quickly before coming to the wound and enveloping his thumb into her mouth.

She isn’t trying any moves or swirling her tongue in any coy play or anything that crafty. She isn’t seducing him. She had wanted to taste and so she had. And she is, just holding his thumb there against her tongue, finger enclosed by her lips.

The foreign intrusion is more arousing that anything she has felt in years and she doesn’t know if it is that or the alcohol that is making everything in her head hazy and everything below her brain feel like fire.

“Is that so?” And his voice sounds wrecked.

She isn’t sure which part of the comment he was responding to, but when she glances up, he is staring at her, eyes blasted.

Temari lets go of his thumb with a small pop.

In the interim, she thinks there must be silence again, but she can’t tell because the blood is pounding deafening orchestras in her ears and before she has a chance to really think, she has moved to slip between him and the sink, hip and tailbone bumping against the lip as she faces him. She has waited months to feel her breasts pressed against him. And then her hands are pulling at the intersection between his ears, jaw, and neck, and he is following her down, pressing her as far into the sink as she’ll go before finally closing the distance between their lips.

It is just a press at first. Hard and stiff, and they each pull back the smallest amount to just breathe. To get a baring. But she still feels his thumb in her and even the press of chap lips doesn’t do anything to dull the feeling on her tongue and on the roof of her mouth. So she chases the feeling, pulling him back the centimeter he’d parted and meeting him with open lips.

This time the kiss is hot and messy and Shikamaru has grabbed the back of her neck to switch positions, and then he is running his hands all over her back, scratching down her clavicles and spreading like wings around her ribs.

“I thought you’d never do this,” he breathes, turning her around again to lift her half-onto the sink. “But I’ve been waiting. For months.”

Everything she should be concentrating on seems absent from her conscience -- the dirty bathroom, the still-bleeding thumb. All she feels are his hands on her breasts and the hike of her skirt and the wet heat of his breath against the skin of her neck.

And then someone knocks on the door.

She pushes him away so abruptly that he hits the toilet unable to get his baring in time before toppling over to sit on the seat, legs splayed lewdly and mouth red. She watches him for only a second to see his shoulders heaving with his breaths, expression clearly too taken aback to form a verbal response yet, and then she leaves, redoing the buttons that had come undone and pulling down her skirt.

The air is cooler outside the bathroom and as soon as the door shuts behind her, Temari finally feels like she can breathe again. There is no one waiting for the room anymore -- thank god -- and she turns on her heel to stalk back to the bar as quickly as she can before Shikamaru comes out of the bathroom.

“How much do I look like I almost just had sex?”

Tenten looks her over. “Are you bleeding?”

She waves a hand in dismissal. “Not my blood.” But Temari looks down to see swipes of it against her shirt.

Her roommate lets out a bark of laughter. “In that case,” Tenten replies, “only ‘almost’?”

Temari huffs and waves her hand in annoyance. But she does fix her hair before going to her remaining students and politely excusing herself for the night, making sure to grab her coat before anyone stops to see if she is injured.

 

* * *

 

“We’re both adults,” she says before class.

He raises his brows, seeming not to believe her argument, but definitely expecting it.

“We can quell wayward sexual tension.” It’s not like they are in love or anything.

Shikamaru eyebrows seem to get even higher. His black eyes are glinting as though he knows something she doesn’t.

“Plus,” she adds, as though it were an afterthought and not the main reason she wasn’t pursuing this, “it’s against my contract for this class. I would be --”

She stops. Shikamaru stays silent. He doesn’t seem upset. Surely not surprised, but not even a little bit angry. Isn’t he angry at her? Shouldn’t he be?

She remembers (thought about it all night, replaying that singular feeling of his breath over her cheek and the wetness left there with _i’ve been waiting for months_ ) his words. It was clearly something he wanted last night. So why is he so disinterested now?

“Right.” He says eventually. “Sexual tension.”

And he left it at that, turning and walking the remaining steps to his usual seat. Temari, on the other hand, waits for him to sit before turning herself and walking the remaining steps down and back to her desk. He spends the rest of class staring at her, and even though she searches for some higher meaning in it, his stares don’t seem anymore intense than usual.

 

* * *

 

The month finishes in that way: almost exactly the same as it started. As though the bathroom incident had never happened at all. As though there was never a moment in her life in which she had let herself slip so out of control, that she had felt the overwhelming need to lick someone’s blood. And for _that_ to turn her on so much she thought she might come apart from just the feeling of his thumb pressed into her mouth.

She might have been a physics major in her undergrad, but she knew the Stoics. She understood the idea of consumption and ingestion and the raw, complete, and unbridled eros. And she knew that whatever this was, she was the only one that seemed to be feeling it.

Shikamaru, on the other hand, treats her no differently than he had two weeks ago when the whole bathroom thing had happened. He shows up to class early, receives A’s on _absolutely everything_ , and doesn’t treat her out of the ordinary in any way whatsoever. The sole difference in their routine is that she no longer makes appearances in the library.

The worst thing, she is sure, is that Temari has absolutely no idea what she wants, or more importantly, what she wants from him; though in the classic unfairness that always seems to befall the two of them, he has more answers than she does.

 

* * *

 

 

She is at a bar with Tenten when Shikamaru comes in.

She doesn’t see him for a good twenty minutes, according to Tenten, but he has apparently been sitting in one of the booths with an attractive blonde girl the whole time.

“Isn’t it weird that they’re sitting on the same side of the booth?” Tenten asks, cleaning some glasses. There aren’t many people here yet. Wednesdays are never very busy anyway, but there is less traffic than usual right now.

Temari has to remind herself not to look over her shoulder at them. There is a direct view of the booths from her barstool and she is sure he would see her staring.

“I guess.”

“Was the girlfriend in the picture when you fucked him in the bathroom?”

“I didn’t --” Temari rolls her eyes. “No. Well, maybe. Not as far as I know, at least. He could have.”

“Wow,” her roommate scolds, not even trying to hide the grin. “A student of yours _and_ you’re the mistress... Temari, this is so unlike you.”

Temari doesn’t try to justify herself. Anyway, Tenten is right. Maybe. The mistress part is still unclear.

Five minutes later another girl and boy come in and sit in the seat across from Shikamaru and his possible-girlfriend. Temari only turns her head once to see the new additions, but she is getting enough of a feed on the happenings from Tenten.

Apparently he is not with his girlfriend, but is being set up -- or maybe has just started seeing or something -- this new girl. Supposedly it is really apparent that she is not close with him yet, but the flirtation is heavy in all their movement, or at least that is what Temari is told.

“It’s definitely a first date.” Tenten says, sparing sentences every time she happens to walk by Temari. The bar is more crowded now and Temari is no longer getting live-updates as her source suddenly seems to have a more important job to do.

She looks back again to see Shikamaru and his date -- not the blonde girl, the other one -- have moved from the booth to the middle of the floor, he is whispering in her ear and she can’t seem to smile any coyer.

Temari huffs and turns back, nursing her gin and tonic.

Tenten is somewhere at the opposite end of the bar when she feels the new presence behind her.

“I thought martinis were your drink of choice.”

Temari stiffens. She doesn’t need to turn her head to see him only inches from her.

It takes a second, but she makes the connection from his comment to her drink and she inhales, finally swiveling in her stool. Sitting down, even on a barstool like this, it is intimidating to feel Shikamaru’s body looming over her. He isn’t looking at her though, waiting for Tenten to come serve him.

“Shouldn’t you not be talking to me?” She asks, fingers twiddling with her flimsy plastic straw. At that, Shikamaru angles his head to stare at her.

She hasn’t seen him this up-close in weeks. He has a new cut on his bottom lip, as though he has been chewing on it too hard, though more likely, the dry air had simply ripped the skin apart.

He is expressionless though, brow unfurled.

“You’re jealous.”

She bites her tongue. “Don’t be naïve.”

She turns back to the bar, elbow leaning on the lip and eyes trained on the table.

“What do you want me to do, Temari?” He asks, still staring at her.

At the sound of her name, her eyes scanse over to his elbows on the bar, gaze locking on the cut of his wrists. He seems to notice this, inhaling sharply in turn with the movement of her eyes. He lets his breath out slowly, exasperatedly.

“Should I go home with you?” He isn’t looking at her anymore and now both their gazes locked on the bar seem more intimate than had they been staring at one another. “Bend you over your desk and fuck you after class? Is that what you want?”

Her first reaction isn’t to argue it. She isn’t angry or affronted as she would have been had anyone else said it to her. She _should_ be furious. But she _is_ disquieted. She isn’t sitting still or lying in wait, she _wants_ to agree and submit and she knows this. And he does too.

So she says nothing. And she feels the heat pooling in her gut and her legs and the pounding of her heart.

He leans closer a bare amount, heads parallel. “After all,” he half-whispers, “we’re both adults.”

They sit in silence for another minute before Tenten comes over and fills his order, eyes very obviously looking at the work before her the entire time she is there. When he gets the drinks, Shikamaru turns and leaves without any other moment for interaction.

 

* * *

  
Class is more angry after that.

The first day, Shikamaru doesn’t look at her once, not even as she hands back his quiz. But her hands trace the lines of wood in her desk as class rolls on, fingernails scraping lightly perpendicular to the panels. She presses her palm into the lip of the desk and watches her flesh turn white out of the corner of her eye.

She has never fantasized about him in class before, but here she is, in the middle of a lecture, imagining the press of the wood.

Temari glances up at the stands again, but Shikamaru is still not looking at her. Now, it makes her angrier.

The second day, he spends the whole time staring at her, eyeing the set of her shoulders and the increasingly quick pen taps on the papers before her. She feels him this time and this makes her angrier too.

The third day is like the first. And so is the fourth. And on the fifth, Temari’s annoyance has permeated into every sphere of her life and she decides she should no longer get out of bed.

 

* * *

 

It happens like this: The day before, Temari spends every second looking over her shoulder to see if he is behind her. She looks for him in lines at her coffee shop that she has only ever seen him enter once, like, two years ago. Around the crowd milling to classes and in the crowd leaving the science buildings.

She doesn’t even have anything to say to him. She doesn’t _want_ to talk to him. But she wants nothing more than to get his attention and she brushes off anyone who tries to speak to her all day.

And so on Tuesday morning, Temari lies in bed before her alarm goes off and stares at the ceiling, wondering how she ever got head-over enough on a student to absolutely lose her sense.

Five hours before class, she finally picks up her computer and emails Baki about her absence. Four hours before class, she gets out of bed and showers. Three hours, she has re-heated old pasta and is watching TV. And three hours stay like that. Ten minutes after class ends and her door to her apartment is being pounded down.

She practically flies off the couch at the noise. It doesn’t start soft and grow. The person is slamming a fist ( _likely_ a fist, but it sounds a hell of a lot like a hammer) against the wood panels of her shitty apartment door and Temari is so caught off guard, she trips in her own blankets as she tries to move away from the sofa.

“Hold on, I’m coming. Jesus.” She untwists the blankets and throws them back on the cushions. The attempts to straighten her too short tee-shirt are futile and she ends up kind of just bouncing the hem back up before opening the door.

Shikamaru is on the other side and she forgets how to breathe. But he doesn’t notice, because he wastes no time.

“Are you okay?” He asks, barging into her apartment without waiting for an invitation. She barely manages to move out of his way before he runs into her. “Are you sick?”

Temari turns around. He is standing in the middle of her apartment now, hands antsy. “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t in class.” He snaps his head to her. “You never miss class.”

She opens her mouth and quickly shuts it. She doesn’t have to defend herself. Instead, Temari finds herself closing the door in his wake and walking over to the disheveled couch and coffee table before her. The rest of her apartment is spotless and she can’t find it in herself to be embarrassed about the mess.

Rather, she wants to laugh about how much _power_ she suddenly has over him:

She misses one class and he comes barreling into her apartment, helpless. Helpless. Over _her_.

Yes, had he missed class, she would have found him. She would have gone to the library or waited outside one his lectures. She probably wouldn’t have shown up to his apartment without warning, but that is neither here nor there. And the best is: Shikamaru knows all this. She can see it in the stiff line of his spine and the inhale he has yet to release.

“So.” She says, turning off the paused television. “You were worried about me?”

And then he does what he always does and sweeps the power right out from under her, saying the last thing she would have predicted.

“I was trying to make you jealous.” He finally takes a breath and glances over to her, eyes resting on her exposed stomach for a second before looking her in the eye. “You know, that night. At the bar. I knew you’d been there more often recently and that you’d be there that night and so I proposed the venue with you in mind.” He glances at the ground, lip turning up in a smirk. “I’m sorry. It was unfair of me. You had rejected me and I should have respected that.”

“I didn’t --” but she had. She had rejected him.

There is a pause and Temari bites her lip for lack of anything reasonable to say. Finally she settles on following suit: “you’re right too,” she says, “I was jealous. I am so consumed with you, the thought of someone else catching your eye makes me angry.”

Shikamaru laughs and she sees that glint in his eyes she hasn’t seen since their nights in the library.

“I think it’s ridiculous that we’ve known each other for practically four years and...” He trials off, still smiling.

Four years and only when they can’t be together, do they decide it is actually the better thing. Because they are _good_ together. They work well. And he challenges her. And she _wants_ so badly.

Shikamaru leaves then. Still smiling, though less so now. And as she hears the door close, she remembers the first time they’d met and the exit he’d made then, the knobs of his bare spine moving with each step and the line of shadow his clavicle made on his cold skin. She could have had him then. She’d known it the minute he’d opened the door, the crease of his lid disappearing as his eyes widened with her appearance. She’d known it all this time. In every moment they’d passed by all that year. And every avoidance of eye on campus since. All this time, she should have been his.

 

* * *

 

She shows up in class the next day. Three students check on her before and after class, wondering where she’d been. Shikamaru smiles back when she looks his way, but other than that, he leaves her alone.

 

* * *

 

After the two months she’d been gone, the science library hasn’t changed at all. She can imagine that in another two months, two years, not a single thing will change about this place. Except in two months, two years (two weeks), Shikamaru won’t be here.

It is something she is counting on.

He isn’t by the desk when she comes in. And after a minute or so, she is still the only life in the building as far as she can tell. But his name is on the counter and so she throws her bag on the desk behind his nameplate and starts her hunt. The supply closet is open, so she starts there, and gets lucky.

Shikamaru is standing on his tiptoes with his back to her, reaching for something on a high shelf. Without pause, Temari steps into the closet and closes the door behind her.

“Sorry, no --” he begins, turning around. Then stops.

The closet is smaller than she pictured. He isn’t pressed against her, but he might as well be, with all the heat coming off him. She feels claustrophobic and anxious, though not necessarily in a bad way.

“Temari,” he says, brow furrowed. He has an ID around his neck and she finds it ridiculously attractive that he is on duty. And she can’t even muster up the patience to recognize how disgusting her infatuation with him is.

He inhales when she doesn’t say anything.

“Are you here for a book?”

He is staring at her again like he knows something she doesn’t. And, she supposes, he does.

“You’d better not tell a soul.”

He opens his mouth and closes it again. She is pleased to see his fist clench and unclench by his thigh.

“And it has to stay casual,” she continues, smile in her voice. Temari presses her hands behind her back and leans against the door. His breath is coming quicker, but he still isn’t speaking. “Because if it ever becomes something more than sex,” though she already knows, deep in her gut, that it is far from that, but even though she sure he is aware of this too, he shows no indication, “like, if we get married or some bullshit, and Baki finds out, I will lose my essay advisor.”

He still doesn’t say anything.

“So, you know, sex. I mean, we could do that.” She blinks. “That is, of course, if you’re still okay with --”

His hands are on her shoulders before she can finish the sentence and his grip is so hard, she knows she will have bruises within the hour.

But she isn’t deterred, craning forward and his hands, while not letting up, allow her to come closer. When she is close enough to breathe in his scent, she angles her head and licks a line a little beneath his ear and he shudders with it.

“Got it.” He breathes, pushing her back again, though this time, he comes with her against the door. “Just sex.”

“Just sex,” Temari affirms, hands moving to pull out his tucked shirt.

“I can do that,” he whispers. He leans his forehead on her shoulder, hands finally releasing her to help her shaky fingers with the buttons at the bottom of his shirt.

“Good.” As soon as she has enough room, Temari reaches underneath to touch his skin, scratching lightly down him, moving to feel his heartbeat, blood ringing in her ears. She wants to pull keening gasps from him, is desperate for it, so she hooks her ankle around his calf and pulls him closer. He laughs under his breath, stepping in to press his full form against her. He is half-hard already against her hip and she tries to laugh, but it comes out as more of a moan than anything. She feels him smile into her neck.

“And then,” she continues, practically out of breath even though they haven’t even kissed yet, hands moving again to circle his jaw and neck and hair at the base of his skull. She pulls out the tie and grips what falls from his ponytail in her fist. “Ideally,” she pulls his head back to look at him, “my thesis will be finished by this time next year.”

“Good,” he mimics. “Then you’d better get to work.” 

 

* * *

 

 

“Wait,” Shikamaru says a few minutes later, taking his (second) break with Temari at her usual table. His hair is still out (the tie fell underneath one of the shelves in the supply closet and neither of them had skinny enough arms to reach for it) and she has a feeling he is embarrassed about the hickey blooming beneath his ear, anyway, plus she likes it better this way.

Temari angles her head in question.

“Does that mean that we will get married this time next year?”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, go fuck yourself.”

She swears he winks at her before looking back down at his papers, pen tapping on the desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got inspired for this from a film trailer I watched once (FYI, watched the movie afterwards, went nothing like this story does) but the desk line came from the trailer. and TALK TO ME about hat lick behind the ear johnny gives omar in my beautiful laundrette. title inspired by the copenhagen interpretation. definitely what they meant by either or.....
> 
> many thanks to abbyhatake and apps for reading and editing!
> 
> idk why i'm always one story behind on ao3.... i'll catch up to my other accounts one day...
> 
> THANK YOU FOR READING!
> 
> comment to let me know what you're thinking.


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